Splendor in the Grass
by jamesgatz1925
Summary: Based on the 1961 movie of the same title, this story is about John and Sherlock meeting in California in 1928. It explores teen John and Sherlock's relationship growing around things like sex, alcohol, school, and love.
1. Quarterback

_**A/N: Couldn't wait any longer. Here's my newest story. I'm really excited about it, I worked really hard on it and have been writing/rewriting it for a long time. So I hope you all enjoy.**_

_**Warnings will be put up each chapter. It's starting as a T rating, but it will be raised. This chapter doesn't have any sort of warning for anything. This one's nice and simple. **_

_**Hope you enjoy. Please review! **_

* * *

**September 1928**

* * *

When James Watson told his son he'd need a tutor if he wanted to maintain his GPA for college, John silently prayed it'd be one of those girls his sister hangs around with. Fast girls with short skirts and red lipstick: John's kind of woman. Preferably, though, not one of _those _girls his sister hangs around with; he'd rather have one of the dolls who'd date the male rather than female Watson.

When James informed his son that his tutor would be that Holmes boy, John did not like that one bit. Sherlock Holmes has a reputation, and that reputation isn't that he is a kid who does cool things like takes out a lot of girls or is a star athlete; his reputation is that he has too much mouth and not enough thought to stop it from moving before he gets his head shoved in a toilet or his jacket gets dirtied with dumpster garbage.

Sherlock wears bow-ties under plain sweaters with clean pressed trousers. John can't be bothered to look for clean clothes if he's got his field chores before school and football practice after. John's lucky if he finds a shirt without a hole in the armpit.

Sherlock doesn't wear canvas high-tops like John, shoes that come in various colors like red or navy blue; Sherlock wears black leather Oxfords that are never dusty despite the dirt everywhere around town.

Sherlock's hair is always perfectly in place, whereas John's blond mop is disheveled without product. Sherlock's wavy black hair sticks to his forehead, and the boys at school tease him that he's got a bob like those city flappers. It doesn't make Sherlock want to cut it in any other style, though.

Above all of that, their personalities are very different.

Sherlock is always quick to answer, quick to show off what he knows, and quick to call whoever gets the answer wrong an idiot (no wonder he gets thrown in dumpsters). But John is as slow as the rest of the class, always taking his time to make sure he's right before he answers.

Sherlock Holmes isn't the kind of kid John hangs around with, and he certainly doesn't want that to change.

* * *

But John had no choice but to agree. Whatever Dad says, John does.

Dad says John needs a tutor? John lets it be Sherlock Holmes.

Dad says John needs a scholarship to play ball in college? John agrees that USC would be a fine school to fulfill his football career.

"You hear about Mama's Boys all the time," his sister Harry teases over and over. "You never hear about Daddy's Boy."

"Shut up," John grumbles, grabbing a dirty t-shirt from the laundry so he doesn't have to dirty a clean one to do his chores out in the field before dinner.

Harry pinches his arm. "Go water the plants, just like Daddy tells you to."

John shoves her away. "Don't you have a bottle of wine to slam before dinner?"

"I have to be on my best behavior," Harry says. "One of Dad's business partners is joining."

"Why does that matter to you?" John asks.

"_That_ daddy's got a breezer and ain't too bad to look at either," Harry tells her little brother.

John rolls his eyes. He's familiar with his share of city lingo, that breezers are those neat-o cars without a top, but _daddy _coming out of his sister's mouth so suggestively sounds like a sin. "You're a gold diggin' deb, you know that?"

Harry shrugs. "I like my money more than I like…anyone."

"Anyone?" John asks, lifting an eyebrow. His sister's rare use of gender pronouns is getting to be too much not to ask about. Not that he judges. After spending last summer in the city with her…how can he?

"_Anyone_," she repeats with a sly grin. "Have fun in the field."

"Have fun staying sober for dinner," John says, then leaves the house before she can pinch him for the comment.

* * *

The next day, Sherlock glares out the window the entire way to the Watson house. He really doesn't want to do this, but his father made it very clear that the father of this kid is going to make them very rich, even more rich than they already are, and that Sherlock really has no choice. He tells Sherlock that they're doin' this as a favor to James, but James might throw him a few bucks here and there for his trouble.

"Isn't this kid some jock?" Sherlock argues. "Do you know what jocks do to guys like me?"

"They wouldn't keep doin' what they do if you'd just fight back, son!"

Sherlock frowns and stares out the window again.

He hates the jocks. They're not nice, they stink, they're stupid, and did he mention that they're not nice? They're so rude. They shove him into lockers, they punch his books out of his hands, and don't even get him started on his relationship with the dumpster.

They're not even attractive. It'd be different if the jocks' excuse to act the way they do is because they're pretty, like the mean cheerleaders, but the football players are even worse to look at than they are to talk to.

Except the quarterback. The quarterback…he's the handsome exception.

"Who am I tutoring again?" Sherlock asks before they arrive at their destination.

"That Watson boy. The quarterback."

Sherlock blushes and swallows hard.

_Oh, crap._


	2. Bee

_**A/N: Decided you upload the first two chapters tonight. You're welcome. **_

_**Warning this chapter for a bit of kissing.**_

* * *

John makes it very easy for Sherlock to get over his attraction.

"I don't want this any more than you do," John says when Sherlock rolls his eyes at another wrong answer.

"I know. Clearly you were hoping your tutor would be a girl. But your dad chose me because of business, or…whatever. Sorry I don't have breasts and red lipstick. I'd still appreciate it if you stopped staring at my mouth."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock can see John immediately snap his gaze away from his mouth.

John clears his throat. "Uhm. What?"

"My mouth. I thought maybe there was something on it, that's why I am continuously licking my lips, but there's nothing there."

"I wasn't—"

"You were. I don't mind, but if you're not going to be comfortable with it, then I'm not either."

John surprises him by asking, "And if I was comfortable with it?"

Sherlock has to blink ten times to think of an answer. Since he already has a crush on John, he decides quickly that he'd be very okay with it. "Well, I'd be…I'd be…"

"Comfortable, obviously," John says.

Sherlock stares at him. It's the first time he himself has ever been deduced, if something so clumsy and obvious even counts as a deduction.

John laughs. "So, math then?"

* * *

The second time they meet, Sherlock deduces what John had for lunch. _Yesterday_.

John says he's brilliant.

* * *

The third time they meet, Sherlock shows John the type of math he does (calculus).

John says he's amazing.

* * *

The forth time they meet, John kisses him.

"What was that for?" Sherlock asks.

"I wanted to, is that okay?"

Sherlock smiles. "Sure."

* * *

They do study for a little while after that, then John announces that he needs to water the plants outside. Sherlock's surprised when John doesn't stop to water the flowers sitting in pots on the porch, instead he leads Sherlock all the way out to the rows and rows of grapes in the vineyard. John starts the water and picks up one hose to graze over the top of them.

"This is what you do?" Sherlock asks.

John nods. "Sure. Every day."

"You like it?"

"Love it," John says.

Sherlock doesn't say anything more, he just watches John.

John looks over at Sherlock and notices Sherlock staring intently at his neck.

"Uh...alright?" John asks.

"There's a bee on you," Sherlock simply states.

John immediately swats at his neck and does a little dance. "Kill it!" he cries.

Sherlock's jaw drops and he makes to grab the bee off of John. "Are you insane? You can't kill a bee!"

"Why not?! They're pesky little creatures!"

Sherlock captures the buzzing thing in his hand. "They are not! They just want a little bit of sugar, don't ya?"

John rubs his neck. "You're gonna kill it holdin' it in your hand like that," John informs him, nodding at the closed fist Sherlock has around the bug.

Sherlock shakes his head in disagreement. "Look, see?" Sherlock slowly opens his hand when he no longer feels the bee trying to escape.

"How'd it not sting you?" John asks.

Sherlock shrugs. "Didn't want me. He wanted you."

John grins. "'Cause I'm sweeter."

"_Sweatier_, maybe."

John lets out a soft chuckle. He watches as Sherlock watches the bee walking around his hand. Sherlock's eyes practically glow with excitement, and John likes seeing him this way.

"You got a thing for bees?" John asks.

"I like 'em, that's all."

"Why?"

Sherlock shrugs. "Not sure. I've liked 'em since I was a little kid." Sherlock lightly blows on his palm and the little bee flies away.

"You're an odd ball, you know that?" John asks.

"And yet you let me hang around with you anyway," Sherlock retorts.

John laughs, then takes the hose and squirts Sherlock with water.

"John!" Sherlock cries, wiping his face.

John laughs harder. "Just gettin' your perfect clothes a little dirty."

Sherlock darts at him, but John holds the hose away out of the shorter boy's reach. He punches at John's arm until John drops the hose and runs away.

Sherlock runs after him and doesn't catch up until John stops and allows himself to be caught. John catches Sherlock when he jumps at him, easily tugging Sherlock into his arms and hugging him tight.

John certainly doesn't mind getting wet, too.

* * *

The Friday after they kissed, John has a football game.

Football isn't the biggest deal in northern California. If any sport is played, it's golf or tennis. However, football is a big deal in your town when the quarterback is being looked at to play for University of Southern California, University of California Los Angeles, Stanford, Harvard, Yale, Louisiana, Notre Dame, and Purdue. He's good, but John doesn't think much of it.

Tonight, his attention is on the fact that he spotted Sherlock wandering confusedly onto the bleachers. He looks so lost, so confused and adorable and lost, and John actually wanted to run up the bleachers to show the junior where to sit.

But Sherlock quickly finds the Watson family, who are pridefully sitting near the top with the other players' parents. They've grown accustomed to seeing Sherlock around the house for tutoring lessons, and they welcome Sherlock into their circle to watch the game.

John's distraction doesn't stop him from throwing six touchdowns and rushing for one.

"The kid is good," the crowd says.

"He's goin' places," they say.

"Hope he doesn't get caught up with the girls."

Hearing that makes Sherlock blush, if not out of jealousy but out of annoyance that getting caught up with the girls is still an option for a respectful boy like John Watson.

* * *

On Saturday afternoon, John takes Sherlock for a walk around the vineyard.

"I can't believe your dad still has a vineyard," Sherlock observes.

"Not just my dad," John argues. "Your dad just bought a share, didn't he?"

"Oh yes," Sherlock agrees. "I forgot about that."

"Your dad told mine that you want to go to Harvard."

"I don't," Sherlock spits as if offended. "My dad wants me to."

"Yeah, I can understand," John says.

"You don't want to go to USC?"

John shakes his head. "No, not really."

"What do you want to do?"

John shrugs. "Maintain the vineyard, maybe. I love it out here."

Sherlock looks at him. For the first time almost ever, John looks relaxed. At school, John looks in fear at the boys and girls around him. Clearly wanting to divert his eyes out of politeness when a pretty girl comes to him, and just as well wants to divert his eyes when a tight-pants'd boy walks by.

Sherlock's stomach turns. "Do you like other boys?" he asks without meaning to.

John bends to pick up a few rocks. "Dunno," he answers. "Do you?"

Sherlock shrugs.

They're silent for a few more feet, then Sherlock asks, "Do you like me?"

John glances at him. "I don't kiss people for nothin'." He tosses a rock as far as he can.

Sherlock smiles.

John tosses the other rock, then wipes his hand on his jeans. He hold his hand out until Sherlock hesitantly takes it.

"Come on," John pulls him along, "I want to show you something."

* * *

The top of the hill of the vineyard is where John feels biggest. Not in school hallways, where everyone high-fives him and treats him like a celebrity. Not on the football field either, where he is the hero. He can throw ten touchdowns in one tight, which he's done, and still feel like an ant in this world.

But here, where you can touch the clouds and overlook where blue ocean meets bluer sky, is John's kingdom. The ground below is purple, the grapes more visible than the dirt, and Sherlock thinks of the American tune he learned in grade school, "_purple mountains majesty…_"

"It's—"

John looks over at Sherlock. "Beautiful."

Sherlock looks at him, locking gray eyes with blue, until John's eyes are dark against his and all he can see is his own reflection. John's lips slowly touch his.

John's dirty hands come up to cradle Sherlock's face and neck, one of his thumbs rubbing against Sherlock's sharp cheekbone and the other hand playing with the hair behind his ear.

Sherlock places his hands on John's hips, then he clutches John's soft t-shirt in small fists. He uses the cloth to pull John closer and closer.

"You're amazing," John whispers against Sherlock's pink lips.

Sherlock smiles and kisses John first this time.

They kiss sweetly for long minutes.

The world around them could burn and they'd never know.


	3. Too Young

Watching a boy fumbling over a football while smoking a Marlboro is a funnier sight than John could have ever imagined. The ball flies towards Sherlock's face, and instead of protecting himself, he throws a hand over his cigarette and burns his palm.

"Ow!" he cries.

John laughs again. "I don't much like that you smoke. It makes neckin' with you…not as pleasant."

"Neckin'?"

"Kissing!"

Sherlock huffs. "Yeah, well," he retorts, "I don't much like when you pick me up after football practice."

"What, why?!"

Sherlock hits the ball away from his head. "Sweaty kisses," he says through his cigarette.

John laughs. "Catch the ball!"

Sherlock picks the ball up off the ground and delicately dusts it off with his fingers.

"Didn't your daddy teach you how to play ball?" John asks.

Sherlock clumsily throws it back, then takes his cigarette out of his mouth. "My dad gave up trying to teach me sports after he dealt with my brother. Thank god, too."

"I can't believe you don't like sports."

"There's only one good thing about sports," Sherlock says.

"Which is?"

"Quarterbacks."

John laughs. "What a coincidence, because there's only one good thing about math."

"Which is?"

"Tutors."

Sherlock smiles widely.

They give up after less than an hour later, then Sherlock pleasantly spends the rest of the evening before dinner getting the cigarette taste kissed out of his mouth.

* * *

"We really ought to tell our parents," John says a few weeks later while they walk hand-in-hand through the vineyard.

"Why?"

"Well…because I want to," John says. "And also because it's a bit weird that my dad's still paying you to come over and make out with me."

Sherlock laughs. "If a little bit of actual studying went on, it wouldn't be as odd."

John laughs, too. "I just want them to know me. My sister's so open with herself; I want to be, too. And it's unfair that my sister gets to be open about being a tramp and I can't—"

"Hey," Sherlock stops him. "That's a rude thing to say. You can't shame your sister for anything she does. Sleepin' around doesn't make her a tramp."

John frowns at the ground. "Okay, I'm sorry."

Sherlock nods. "I'm not sure about tellin' my dad."

"Why?"

"I'm not supposed to date 'til I'm sixteen."

John looks at him. "Uhm...how old are you?"

"I won't be sixteen 'til January."

John lets go of his hand. "You're too young for me, sorry."

Sherlock's jaw drops.

"Boy, you ain't even older than Arizona!"

Sherlock grows red and motions to argue.

John laughs loudly. He reaches for Sherlock's hand again. "I'm kidding! I don't mind. But why are you a junior and not a sophomore, then?"

Sherlock skeptically watches John, unsure of if he was really joking about the age difference being an issue. "Skipped eighth grade."

John nods in understanding. He looks down to check his watch. "I need to do my chores," he says before kissing Sherlock's cheek and letting go of his hand.

Sherlock feels more at ease. "Okay, go ahead."

John goes to start the water for the plants.

Sherlock watches as John picks up the biggest hose and starts spraying the plants. "I've noticed that you look more at ease out here than on the field."

"I am," John says. "That field doesn't mean much to me."

"At least you did really well last night," Sherlock says, referring to John's game.

John rolls his shoulder in memory of last night's game.

"Shoulder ache?" Sherlock asks.

John nods. "Four touchdowns will do that for you."

Sherlock steps over to John. "Come here."

John confusedly sets the hose down and goes to him.

Sherlock places his hands on John's shoulders, and John places his hand on Sherlock's hips. Sherlock grabs John's arm and holds it out straight, then begins to rub the knot out.

"Hurts," John pants. He groans. "Real bad."

Sherlock kisses John lightly.

"Relax," he whispers against the thin line of John's mouth.

John tries. Sherlock digs his fingers deeper into John's shoulder.

"Does your shoulder always hurt after a game?" Sherlock asks.

"Yeah," John answers. "Has since I was young."

Sherlock pushes his thumb into John's shoulder and feels a knot. Sherlock presses harder to rub it out.

"You hurt it a long time ago," Sherlock says. He knows John has played football for a very long time, and this is an athletic injury. "You dislocated it being tackled when you were..." Sherlock cheats by remembering that John's mother said he's been a quarterback since he was thirteen. "Twelve."

John's done asking Sherlock how he knows things John's never said, so John just nods. He winces again when Sherlock presses hard.

Sherlock rubs John's arm for the next twenty minutes. Only a few minutes were needed, but the rest are enjoyed because Sherlock can feel John's warm breath against his skin. Every few seconds, he leans in a smacks a kiss to John's face, anywhere he can reach, and he's rewarded with a soft grin.

* * *

John wonders what people would say at school. It's 1928 in Salinas, California. This isn't New York or Los Angeles or even San Francisco. But the town did open an airport this year and they played that Mickey Mouse flick in the movie theater.

The only family with any sort of ties to the future are the Watson's. Cars, money, stocks. James single-handedly brought the bootleg business to northern California and John's mother, Elizabeth, is a fighter for women's rights and Harry takes trips to San Francisco every week and John is one of the few seniors who actually has college plans.

Salinas High School isn't as conservative as other schools. With the population so small, the football team is half African-Americans, Filipinos, and Mexicans whose parents came to California because they heard the farming business was lush. Best running back they have is named Kareem and John's main receiver is named Carlos. And they're perfectly kind boys.

Homosexual kids, though? Nobody's really heard of that much.

But John knows it's better if his parents know. So, one evening at the dinner table, he tells them.

"Uh, Mom, Dad," he says. "I, uh, I have to tell you something."

"What is it, darling?" his mother asks.

"I've, uh…I've started seein' someone."

"A girlfriend?" James asks.

John furrows his eyebrows and his stomach knots. James sounds upset; surely he thinks a girlfriend will ruin John's USC plans. What would the family do if John got her pregnant? They can't stand for that.

John takes a deep breath. "Actually, uh…I'm seeing a boy."

James and Elizabeth's gaze snaps up to John. Elizabeth slowly lowers the serving spoon she's got impaled in a bowl of peas. James folds his newspaper.

"A boy?" James asks.

"Yes, sir, a boy."

"What boy?" James asks, his voice booming across the table. He isn't shouting, but John recognizes his stern voice as something that wants to be an angry shout.

John looks down at his lap. "Uhm…Sherlock."

"Thomas Holmes's boy?"

John looks up at him. "Yes, sir."

James takes a deep breath. His face suddenly turns soft. "Well…"

"Sir?"

"Thomas Holmes is a very important business partner of mine, son. This could…it could help it along."

"Help it?"

"Sure! Imagine if you two got married. Imagine the business collaboration between us!"

John doesn't quite know how to react to that. James is saying this is a good thing, he's actually excited about it. But John is still uneasy.

"What do you think, Elizabeth?" James asks his wife.

"I want you to be happy, son."

This makes John smile. "Thanks, Mama."

Elizabeth continues serving dinner and the conversation is dropped, and for that John is grateful.

The next day, Sherlock tells John about the similar conversation he had with his dad.

"Guess we're off the hook then," John says.


	4. Cupid

John is pleased that he doesn't have to teach Sherlock how to kiss. Age-wise they're a little over two years apart and Sherlock should be too young to have the skill of kissing, but that didn't mean anything with the older girl John went with last year. Her lips were soft and pink and plump and John was sure kissing her would be extremely pleasurable, but her kisses were hard and her tongue was sloppy.

Sherlock, however, is a natural. John asks him over and over if he's ever kissed before, but Sherlock says no every time.

John figures it's the cigarettes that's got him so oral. And he'll gladly let Sherlock hold him still and suck on his tongue if it meant Sherlock wasn't smoking a pack a day.

And kissing is sometimes disturbingly exciting. They're safe at their homes, sometimes they have to sneak around the vineyard, but school…that's a whole different story.

Sherlock doesn't mind seeing John surrounded by cheerleaders in the hall. The girls hang on him like he's a superhero. Their tight tops rub against him in a wholly suggestive way. It doesn't bother Sherlock because of the way John watches him walk by.

Then John catches him exiting the school. He drags Sherlock around the side of the school, where nobody is around, then John quickly pushes him against the wall and shoves his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock rewards him with a tough tug and wrapping his arms around John's neck.

The pleasure is spiked because of the danger. Anyone could see them at any moment. But the want, the _need _to feel each other now is greater than the fear of being discovered.

They finally break apart when John announces that he needs to get to football practice. Sherlock gives him one last, sad kiss and John promises to go to his house after.

"We'll pick up where we left off," John promises, with a sly wink.

* * *

John's football team makes it to the regional championship, which isn't a surprise. There's a pep assembly the afternoon before at school. The cheerleaders do a routine that the football players happily watch right in front of them. Sherlock catches John looking through the crowd, though, and when he spots Sherlock they lock eyes and share a grin.

"I love you," John mouths.

Sherlock's chest feels like it's been struck by Cupid's arrow.

* * *

Later that night, Sherlock's brother is there visiting. He calls Sherlock into his bedroom and tells him to sit at the desk.

"Tomorrow's the big game at school," Mycroft, Sherlock's brother, says. "Dad tells me you're dating the quarterback."

Sherlock bites his lip.

"Dad also says he's being seriously looked at to play football at USC."

"Yes."

"And you're going to Harvard."

Sherlock frowns. Harvard talk, again.

"I'm going to tell you something very important so you'd better take my advice. Do not have sex with this boy."

Sherlock chokes on his spit. "What?!"

"Sex muddles your brain, Sherlock, and you, of all people, can't afford to get…muddled. Eyes on the prize, as they always say. The prize is Harvard, sex and this boy is your obstacle."

"But—"

"Modern times ruin that for you, I know. Temptations are everywhere you look. But you need to push away your desires, little brother. You need to stay focused."

"But—"

"No, Sherlock. Listen to me. Having sex will ruin your opportunities of going to a good college. Why do you think women don't go to college? They have sex, get pregnant, and can't."

"That's not—"

"It is, Sherlock. Trust me. Don't do it."

Sherlock scowls. "Have you—"

"No. And look where I am."

Sherlock can't deny that proof. His brother is the top of his class at Harvard. Even though Sherlock doesn't particularly want to go to college, he can't disappoint his dad.

"Alright?" Mycroft asks.

Sherlock nods. "Alright."


	5. Big Game

_**A/N: Uploaded chapter 4 and 5 tonight, make sure you read both! **_

_**Warning for kissing. **_

* * *

The big game is the next day. It's the most important game of John's high school career, and everyone makes it known. He's not nervous, though.

For the occasion, students got a half day off of school to get ready for the game. John takes Sherlock to his house so his mom can make them lunch, then afterwards they go out to the vineyard.

They find a grassy area under a tree despite the grass dying because of the late October weather change. It's a gorgeous day out, only slightly windy but warm when it hasn't been lately, so they sprawl out next to each other in the shade.

John takes Sherlock's hand between them. Sherlock's stomach flutters in amazing ways. He's never felt this way before; never has he ever felt this comfortable with another person. He's never felt pleasure in anything so mundane as laying under a tree either, but here he is. With the quarterback of the football team.

"Your mama's real nice," Sherlock says. "She's a good cook. And she doesn't make me drink milk like my dad does."

John laughs. "I'll tell her. And it wouldn't kill you to drink a little bit of milk every once in a while. Milk helps you grow and you're smaller than me."

"I'm almost three years younger than you."

"Not so! You were born in '13, I was born in '10."

Sherlock looks at John. "That's three years, bud."

John goes straight-faced. "Oh."

Sherlock laughs and looks up at the sky again. "We shouldn't be out here, we should be studying first grade addition."

John playfully shoves him.

Sherlock smiles at him.

They fall silent once again, Sherlock thinking about their wide age difference and John wondering about Sherlock's mother. He decides to ask, even though part of him is telling him not to.

"Say, Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"What happened to your mother?"

"Uhm..." Sherlock clears his throat. "She died."

John looks at him. "When?"

"Let's see...I was about five, so...ten years I guess."

"What happened?"

Sherlock shrugs. "Dunno. She was sick, I guess. No one told me. One day she went to see her doctor and she didn't come home."

"I'm sorry," John says.

"It's alright."

"Do you miss her?"

Sherlock shrugs again. "Sometimes. Don't remember much of her to miss, but sometimes I miss her hugs and her hair."

"Her hair?"

"Her hair always smelled like roses, I remember that."

"That's a good memory."

"It is," Sherlock agrees. He looks over at John. "Why're you askin'?"

"Just curious, that's all."

"Alright," Sherlock says, now looking up to count the leaves left on the tree above them.

"You can talk to me about anything, if you ever need to."

"I know that," Sherlock replies, squeezing John's hand.

John squeezes back. "Can I ask you something else now?" he asks.

"Sure, anything."

"What did you think of me before we met?" John asks next.

Sherlock stops counting leaves. "What do you mean?"

John shrugs. "Sometimes I fear what people think of me. I've got money, and I don't want people to think it affects me as a person."

"I don't think it does," Sherlock says. "I know you're a swell guy now."

John laughs. "_Now_ you do," he retorts. "What did you think before we met?"

Sherlock squeezes his hand again, this time in a comforting way. "I thought you were like them. I thought you were going to throw me into a dumpster if I made it known that I was tutoring you outside of school."

"You thought I was like the bad boys?"

Sherlock nods. "Trust me, I've never been so delighted to be wrong."

John smiles at him.

"But..." Sherlock sighs. "I did think one other thing about you."

John looks at him curiously. "What's that?"

Sherlock blushes. "I...I thought you were really..."

John turns onto his side and props himself up on one elbow. "Dumb? Rude? A bad athlete?"

Sherlock throws an arm over his face. "Cute..." he mumbles.

John laughs and tugs at Sherlock's arm. "Don't be embarrassed!" He turns onto his belly and scoots closer to Sherlock so his chin can rest on Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock peaks under his arm. "It's not embarrassing?"

"No, of course not," John says.

Sherlock lifts his hands to place on the back of John's head.

John leans up to kiss him once, then lays back down on his chest.

"What did you think of me?" Sherlock asks a few minutes later with his fingers pleasantly tangled in John's sun-bleached blond hair.

"The same thing I think about you now," John says, "That you're a loud know-it-all who tells people things other people don't know and likes a good beatin'."

Sherlock laughs and swats at his head. "Hey!"

John looks up at him. "You thought I was a jerk!"

"Well, I don't now!"

John laughs and kisses him again.

The absolute ease of it sends Sherlock aflutter.

* * *

"We ought to do something," John says after a while longer, still laying firmly on Sherlock's flat chest.

"We're doing something now," Sherlock informs him, carting his fingers through the dirty tangles of John's hair. John can take a bath every night and still have tangles, and it's something that Sherlock loves.

"No, go out."

Sherlock tenses under him. "Out?"

"Yeah. Movie show, dancin', spend an afternoon down at the beach? What'd'ya say?"

Sherlock shrugs.

John tilts himself up on his elbows. "You don't want to?"

"I just...I like being confined by the gates of the vineyard. It's scary out there. What if someone doesn't agree?"

"That's nonsense. Boys hang out with boys all the time."

Sherlock still frowns.

John brushes his lips against Sherlock's. "We can't hide in the vineyard forever," he says.

"Why not?"

"Love shouldn't have to hide. Don't you love me?"

"Of course."

"Then I'm taking you out tomorrow night."

There's not much disagreement you can give when the most powerful stud at school has you pinned to the grass in his daddy's vineyard. All fear subsides when John kisses him again; the world is right.

* * *

Of course John wins the big game. Practically alone, if not for his one main wide receiver. John throws four touchdowns, each over at least twenty yards, and one touchdown he ran only four yards for.

Scouts don't care how far you ran, they care that you did.

"Boy has the ability to pull touchdowns from a hat," the USC scout says.

Sherlock's sitting near them with the Watson family in the bleachers, all the scouts known because they're wearing fancy suits with their school's pin stuck to their chest.

"See that?" they all mutter to each other.

The Harvard scout missed it.

"Dove past three defenders to get into a safe passing zone," Yale explains.

"Just threw that thirty-eight yard pass on one foot," UCLA adds.

Harvard laughs in disbelief. "I want him," he says.

Sherlock, for the first time, realizes that John going to Harvard too could be a possibility.


	6. Only You

_**A/N: WARNING for suggested wording of rape related things. and fighting. And underage drinking. It's all resolved, though. Thanks for reading! Please review!**_

* * *

There's a party at the Watson home afterwards. The booze is flowing, kids everywhere are absolutely drunk.

Sherlock arrives late, since he had to go home after the game to have dinner with his parents. He took the opportunity to shower and re-dress before arriving at John's.

He wanders the large home looking for the star, _his_ star.

"What an edge," he hears a guy, the wide-receiver, say while downing another glass of clear liquor.

"This place is a right gin mill," another says. "Watson ought to win the championship more often."

It upsets Sherlock that this is all John is to them.

Finally, he finds John.

John grins at him as Sherlock walks up.

"Look at you all dolled up," John says, stroking Sherlock's cheek and peering at Sherlock's clean clothes. John's wearing a t-shirt and he still smells like locker room. No doubt he, and the others, didn't have time to properly shower.

John is already buzzed, Sherlock can tell. The red tinge to his cheeks is pleasant against John's skin, and his eyes are so wide they're glittery blue, but John's uneasy lopsided grin is unnerving. Since the scouts are each in attendance, John is more composed than he should be. For that Sherlock is thankful.

"I'm going to get you some water," Sherlock says, turning away.

John grabs his hand. "No, don't leave."

Sherlock stands still, but his eyes whip around making sure nobody noticed John grabbing for him so quickly.

John opens his mouth to say something, Sherlock doesn't know what, when one of the teammates passes them. Sherlock rips his hand away from John's.

"Aye, Johnny Boy!" he yells, clanking his glass against John's.

John meets him halfway too hard, for his glass shatters into many pieces in his hand. Sherlock gasps, but John just laughs.

"My gin, you hood!" John yells at his friend, but he's not angry, he's still laughing.

Sherlock notices red staining John's fingers. "John, you're bleeding!"

John looks down at his hand. "Ahh, look at that."

Sherlock grabs his arm and pulls him upstairs and into John's bathroom. John giggles as Sherlock sits him on the toilet and gets toilet tissue to clean his hand.

"You might need stitches," Sherlock says.

"Nonsense," John replies.

Sherlock cleans up the blood as much as he can, then gets a bandage for the wound. He figures he'll go downstairs to find Mrs. Watson and tell her what happened.

"I'm going to get your mom," Sherlock says, moving to leave.

"No," John whispers, "Come here."

Sherlock pauses.

John stands and places his clean hand on Sherlock's neck, using it as leverage to pull him in for a kiss.

Sherlock tries to pull away; the stench of sweat and alcohol surrounding John makes Sherlock's stomach turn. He feels nauseous. John has him pinned against the sink and is trying to push Sherlock's legs apart so he can stand between his thighs.

"John, stop," Sherlock whispers, trying to close his knees.

"Why?" John asks, not stopping at all. "Don't you love me?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then let me."

John kisses him again, but Sherlock shoves him off harder. John stumbles backwards against the wall.

"What's eatin' you, babe?" John asks, anger prickling his voice.

"Don't call me that," Sherlock says, using a deeper voice than usual to hopefully show John that he's not a vulnerable little kid. "Not now."

John furrows his eyebrows. "You're a tease," he says.

"I'm not a pushover."

"All these other dames are," John says. "All these girls my sister brought."

"Fine," Sherlock says, reaching for the doorknob. "Do whatever you want, but don't call me again afterwards."

John grabs his arm before Sherlock can turn the doorknob.

"Ow!" Sherlock cries, trying to get out of John's grip.

"Why you gotta treat me this way?" John asks through gritted teeth.

"What're you gonna do, hurt me?" Sherlock spits, "I thought you were a good guy." Then, he yanks his arm out of John's grip and leaves before John can get a hand on him again.

* * *

Sherlock runs out of the house, knowing John is behind him. They get outside to where many cars are parked, where nobody is paying attention to them, then John tries again.

"Sherlock!" he calls. "Stop!"

Sherlock doesn't stop. He rushes past a car that he notices a few people are sitting in, not really noticing who is in it.

Suddenly, they hear a loud, shrieking scream coming from the car. Sherlock turns around, hearing a girl yell, "Stop!" and recognizing the voice instantly as Harry Watson's. He moves to the car, hoping to do something to help her, but John beats Sherlock there.

John throws the driver side door open and yanks out the first body he can reach. It's a young boy, a boy in Sherlock's class, so John immediately punches the boy in the face.

"What the_ fuck _do you think you're doing?" John yells in the boy's bleeding face.

"The stupid bitch started it!" the boy yells back, so John punches him again.

Sherlock, who is at the passenger side, notices there's still a boy in the car with Harry, so he throws the passenger door open and yanks that boy out, too. He's much bigger than Sherlock, but Sherlock's had fighting lessons since he was a kid and can take the boy down easily.

Which is what he does. While the boy is distracted with his undone jeans, Sherlock punches him once in the ribs, the perfect spot to drop him to the ground. Sherlock doesn't let up, he just keeps punching the kid over and over, taking out all the aggression he has in his body; he uses all the anger he feels towards not only the two boys for hurting Harry Watson, but also the anger he feels towards John for not understanding Sherlock's own "no".

"Sherlock!" Harry shrieks when the brute's body slumps.

Sherlock stops three hits after the boy is out. He slowly backs up to the car, wondering what the fuck he just did, until Harry is grabbing his shoulder over the door. He then snaps out of it and helps Harry out of the car. Sherlock tears his jacket off and places it modestly over Harry's shoulders. She wraps her arms around his neck as John continues to beat the other boy.

A minute later, Sherlock realizes John might kill the boys, so he pries Harry off of him to go to John. Stepping over two bleeding boys, he roughly pulls John away right on time for a lot of people to gather and for John's dad to exit the house.

"Get out of here, Sherlock!" John yells.

"John, I'm not-"

John gets in his face and yells again. "Go!"

Sherlock lets John go, then backs away down the drive until he can turn around and run.

* * *

Sherlock doesn't hear from John the next day. Not that he'd expect to anyway; normally John would be in bed with a hangover all day. Plus, with the fight, he has no idea what is going on with John at all. John could be in jail for all Sherlock knows.

Still, over all of that, Sherlock can't help but fear that since last night's conversation in the bathroom, their relationship is over and that's why John hasn't called.

* * *

He doesn't see John until Monday morning. Everyone's still treating John like a celebrity, so he knows it's John surrounded by the crowd of students awaiting to talk to him about the big game and the even bigger party.

John finds him before class, though. As he's gathering the books needed, John pops up next to him.

"Hello," John tries.

Sherlock glances at him, noticing his big black eye and swollen lip. "Hi."

"You mad at me?"

Sherlock shuts his locker and turns to walk down the hall. John follows. "What's it to ya?"

"Level with me, Sherlock. Do you want me to leave you alone forever, or can we just...forget about what happened? I'm so sorry."

"You hurt me, John. And you scared me. What the hell happened the other night?"

"In the bathroom..." John sighs. "I'm sorry. I was drunk, I wasn't thinking, I shouldn't have tried to do _anything_."

"And outside?"

"I snapped. They were hurting my sister, Sherlock. They said it was her fault, that she was askin' for it since she was drunk and flirtin' with them. But she wasn't, you know that. She didn't want 'em to do anything."

"So are you in trouble?"

John shakes his head. "No, it was considered some form of self-defense. Those boys are in trouble, though. For hurtin' my sister."

"Good."

John nods in agreement.

"You still hurt me."

"And I won't ever again, I promise."

The hall is nearly empty, so Sherlock pauses and turns to face John.

"Why? Why me?"

John glances at the passing students, clearly uneasy. "Can we talk about it later?"

"No, you approached me. You get to talk."

John clears his throat. "Truth is...I'm completely stuck on you. I love you and I'm sorry that I said what I did and that I hurt you. I promise I don't want anyone else, babe. Just you, always you."

Sherlock watches him unconvinced, but his stomach does ecstatic flips when John calls him 'babe'. "I don't like that you were drinking alcohol."

"I won't drink again, then."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

With the hall completely empty now, Sherlock leans up to kiss John lightly on the lips. John smiles through the kiss, but Sherlock feels uneasy still.

Still, he's relieved John is okay, so he wraps his arms tight around John's neck.

"I'm glad you're okay," he whispers.

John drops his books so he can rub Sherlock's back. "You too," he says. "That's why I yelled at you to get away, I didn't want you hurt."

"I know."

"I'm sorry I yelled."

"I know."

John pulls back and holds the back of Sherlock's head, digging his fingers into Sherlock's hair. He kisses Sherlock again, then pulls back to smile at Sherlock.

"I love you," John whispers.

"I love you, too."


	7. Sexy

_**A/N: WARNING for lots of kissing, plus masturbation and sexual fantasy. I think this is the first M rated chapter so I'm upping the rating.**_

* * *

Basketball starts the next week, the second week of November.

But the week in between sports seasons is greater than the sports season itself for John.

Sherlock's got him so wildly turned on that one swipe of hot tongue over his lips can get John panting and hard in his pants before his brain can even process the sensation in his mouth. John's sure one brush of anything over the bulge in his jeans would have him coming in no time, and that's usually to be expected as a teen. But it's almost too much to be able to suppress.

Since John's off of sports for the week, he invites Sherlock over every afternoon. John's parents let them alone upstairs in John's bedroom. Why not, with no risk of an unwanted pregnancy? The boys can get up to whatever they want as long as the business between the two families is still on.

So John takes Sherlock upstairs to his bed. He draws the curtains on the windows to block out the sun, setting the mood for a dark and ominous afternoon.

John takes his shoes off and lies back on his bed.

"Come here," he whispers.

Getting into bed with a boy isn't sex, Sherlock knows it won't kill him. He follows gladly, taking John's hand and letting John pull him onto the bed.

John turns onto his side and wraps his arms around Sherlock. He tangles his legs with Sherlock's, and Sherlock wraps his arms around John's neck.

"I love this," John whispers, rubbing his hand up and down Sherlock's side.

"Me too," Sherlock replies.

John kisses him for it.

"I love you," John whispers between swipes of his tongue.

Sherlock tightens his grip. "I love _you_," he replies.

John smiles and kisses him again.

Soft kisses turn hard and their position turns into John shifting onto his own back and pulling Sherlock on top of him. Sherlock lets his body be rearranged; he loves the feel of John's strong hands stroking up and down his sides and thighs.

"Do you like this?" John asks.

Sherlock nods.

John pulls him down for more kissing, and Sherlock's eyes roll in his skull.

Suddenly, he's hot all over. John rotates his hips beneath Sherlock, causing their previously unnoticed erections to grind together between two sets of jeans and underwear. Sherlock pulls his mouth away and pants in John's face.

"Sorry..." John tries. "Was that not good?"

"Very good," Sherlock replies, squeezing his eyes shut as if in pain. "John, I can't have sex with you."

John brushes stray curls away from Sherlock's eyes, causing Sherlock to look at him again. "Why not?" John softly asks, more begging than questioning.

Sherlock climbs off of him and sits on the edge of the bed. "I just can't."

"You don't want to?" John asks.

"No, I do...I just...I really can't."

John sits up behind him and rubs his back. He kisses the trail of his hands.

"Okay," John whispers.

* * *

The kissing doesn't stop there. Kissing isn't sex, no matter how much it leads to the yearning of spread legs and heat and Sherlock's thighs wrapped around his hips and thrusting against Sherlock until he's screaming and-

With a loud moan from dream-Sherlock, John sighs himself awake. He gropes beneath the sheets to take himself in hand and comes seconds later with an unsatisfied groan escaping his mouth.

* * *

It drives John absolutely mad that of all the things in the world for the young man to believe in, this is the one Sherlock keeps. It's nothing to do with God or waiting 'til their wedding night; there's nothing pure about two men going at it in ways John had only learned about by being in the city last summer. It's because Sherlock's brother says not to, his brother says that getting his brain and body muddled with sex will ruin the power he has, the knowledge stuck in that head.

It drives John mad. This, of all things. John's seen Sherlock smoke cigarette after cigarette all the way to the filters, whereas John's other friends giggle and cough after one drag. He's seen Sherlock discreetly sip alcohol at dinner when he thinks nobody is watching, despite his efforts to keep John way from the stuff; and the way Sherlock can kiss is obscene. But god forbid John touch him below the belt.

John lays awake some nights, holding himself in hand, stroking vigorously and imagining the Vaseline-wet heat surrounding him is Sherlock's own body. From the few times they've made out in a bed and Sherlock's eagerly climbed on top of him, he can feel the phantom weight of Sherlock straddling his hips and he can only imagine what it'd feel like with Sherlock sinking down onto his cock. He squeezes himself tighter, because of course Sherlock will be tight the first time John fucks him. He rotates his hips upwards into his own fist and longs to sink his fingers into the ridiculously plush skin of Sherlock's hips and backside. He comes into a soft tissue and imagines it's Sherlock's silky mouth.

It's unsatisfying, always is. And annoying. Sherlock can get him so keyed up that John would kill a man if it meant being able to get off in Sherlock's presence, in any way, but Sherlock knows the limit and instantly backs away when (John hopes), he himself feels too wound up.

But this is all it can be, John knows. For now, he only has his dreams and imagination to go on...but it isn't enough.

* * *

The air turns really cold on time for Thanksgiving and in no time it's Christmas. They don't get snow, never do, but it's still breezy enough to wear coats, proper jeans, and boots instead of shorts, t-shirts, and John's regular old shoes. Sherlock gets a fancy overcoat for Christmas and John thinks it's the most erotic piece of clothing the (now) sixteen-year-old owns.

"What is it with you and this coat?" Sherlock asks while John plunders his mouth and licks his neck, his hands never letting go of the coat lapels.

"It's...spiffy," John says. "Elegant."

Sherlock laughs. "What a line."

John grins against his neck. "It's dark and sexy," John says, then sucks on Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock gasps as if surprised, no doubt shocked that John said 'sexy' in his presence.

John thinks of nothing more than wanting to taint Sherlock's innocence. He bites down and sucks on Sherlock's collarbone.

Sherlock lets out a deep groan, his voice sounding deeper than ever before.

With the sound, John sucks harder and longs so badly to push a hand between them to feel Sherlock's arousal for himself. He wants to open Sherlock's trousers and stroke his cock until Sherlock comes; he wants to make Sherlock shake in his arms and to hear his name spilling over and over from Sherlock's hot lips; he wants to suck Sherlock's come from his fingers while Sherlock's breathing calms; he wants to drop to his knees to lick Sherlock clean before tucking him back into his underpants and re-fastening his trousers; he wants to press his face into Sherlock's crotch to breath his sex scent until it's stuck in his nose and he can't think of smelling anything else ever again. Then he wants to kiss Sherlock softly until Sherlock can't stand because he's so exhausted, thoroughly spent and tired.

But he doesn't. He kisses his way back to Sherlock's lips and now kisses him softly and sensually, hopefully showing Sherlock how much he loves him.

* * *

John thought the cold air would certainly cool down the need for Sherlock's body against his. The heat makes boys to crazy things, and the heat and _love_ makes being a teenage boy unbearable.

Instead, John takes his frustrations out on players on opposing basketball teams. He's aggressive against other teams, fouling out of a game within the first few weeks of playing time, and by the end of Christmas break he's a mass of poor sportsmanship.

"What's gotten into you, boy?" the coach asks repeatedly.

"Sorry, sir," John says.

"Just because you're bein' looked at for football don't mean you can act like this on the court. Laps, now."

John takes the punishment. It lets him get out all of his energy before going to see Sherlock.

And it makes him his usual self. Easy going, compliant, ready to back away when Sherlock says to. He settles for spooning in bed, or the sofa in front of a fire, or actually doing some of that studying he needs to keep his GPA up.


	8. Apart

_**A/N: Notes at the bottom. **_

* * *

By Valentine's Day, John is a ball of irritation. Everyone and everything is simply _awful_. His basketball team is severely slacking in talent, his dad is constantly angry with his English grade, and Sherlock won't freakin' put out, no matter how much John _begs_. John knows one of those things needs to be cut before he goes mad, and unfortunately the last is the most expendable since he knows his dad would never let him quit basketball.

"We need to take some time apart," John says one night while they're parked in his brand new car out in front of Sherlock's Victorian-style home.

"Apart?" Sherlock asks. "Sure, I guess. You have a game tomorrow anyway, so I guess I'll see you on Fri—"

"No," John stops him. "Some real time."

Sherlock frowns. "How long?"

John shrugs. "I don't know, Sherlock. I need some time…for myself."

Sherlock slowly nods.

"I still love you," John tells him.

"Alright," is all Sherlock can say in response.

John reaches over and strokes his soft cheek.

* * *

An entire week goes by without any contact. They pass each other in the halls without saying a word, John even delivers a file of papers to Thomas Holmes and denies seeing Sherlock when Thomas offers.

"Where's Sherlock been hidin', son?" Elizabeth asks over dinner.

John shrugs. "Dunno, Mama."

"You two have a fight?" James asks.

"No, sir. Just…takin' a break, that's all."

"All's well," James says. "Your English teacher came into the office and said your grade is slipping. Work on that, son."

"Yes, sir."

John picks at his food all through dinner. He hasn't been hungry for weeks, as a matter of fact he's been stomach sick in that time, too. He doesn't think much of it, though.

Elizabeth excuses herself for a bath after dinner, but John stays with his dad to talk.

"I know what's eatin' you, boy," James says.

John looks at him. "You do?"

"Sure. Ate at me when I was eighteen, too."

"What's that, sir?"

"Sex. Not havin' it is no way for a boy to live, especially now-a-days."

John blushes. He doesn't want to be having this conversation with his father.

"There's only one solution," James says.

John looks at him curiously, despite the fact that he wants to run away.

"Find some jane, son. Surely your sister's got a friend she can set you up with."

John makes a face. Like it's that easy, to just walk out and find some girl who will give him what he wants. Like sex isn't about love or about Sherlock.

But, John slowly realizes, it's not.

* * *

There's a basketball game the next day. It's the second to the last before baseball season starts, and John's eager for warm weather and to be able to play outside in the fresh air again.

John gets another English assignment back before school ends. There's a big, fat, red "D" on the top, and his teacher informs him that he needs to get at least C's on the last assignments on the year or else he might not get accepted into college.

John wipes the sweat from his brow on his t-shirt sleeve. "Yes, ma'am," he says.

She examines his sweaty, flushed face. "You alright, Watson?"

John clears his throat and wipes his forehead again. "Not feelin' so hot, ma'am."

"Maybe you should sit the game out this afternoon."

John shakes his head. "Nah, I'm fine."

She excuses him to go change for the game, and John slowly makes his way to the gymnasium.

He sees Sherlock on the way. He smiles weakly at the other boy, which makes Sherlock smile back. Sherlock goes over to John and walks with him to the gym, which is unusual this week, but it makes John happy.

"I heard your English grade is slippin'," Sherlock says.

"You heard right," John replies.

"I could…I could help," Sherlock offers.

John wipes a hand over his face. "I'll call you."

Sherlock chances a quick smile.

They're at the gym, so John pauses in front of the locker room door. "I'm sorry," he says, referring to having to leave Sherlock now. He wipes his nose on his shirt.

"You're ill," Sherlock observes. "You shouldn't play today. Go home and get some rest."

John shakes his head. "I'm fine."

Sherlock nods in acceptance. "Call me," he says.

John nods. "Sure."

Sherlock looks up at John, his large, round eyes sad. "I miss you."

John glances around to make sure they're alone, then he grasps the back of Sherlock's neck and squeezes. "I'll call you."

Sherlock nods again, then John disappears into the locker room.

* * *

Sherlock stays for the game. Normally he wouldn't, because basketball is even more dull than football and John isn't even the star of his team, but he sits in the stands with the other students and watches the game begin.

John misses his first six shots. It's out of character for him, usually John is a perfect shot nine times out of ten. He shakes it off, his teammates tell him it's alright, and the game carries on.

At the start of the second quarter, John in-bounds the ball from the visiting side of the court and dribbles it down to his basket. It's clear something is off, for John trips over his feet but catches himself before he falls. Sherlock sits up and watches with more intent, fearing something bad is going to happen.

John gets the ball down to his basket and tries to take the ball to the net on his own. He dribbles past a defender, then another, and when he goes for a layup, the third defender steps in front of him and fouls John so hard that he falls to the ground.

Sherlock stands to make sure John gets up alright.

He doesn't get up.

Sherlock stops breathing.

A teammate tries to pull John to his feet, but John's body slumps and the coach yells to get away from him.

Sherlock's heart stops.

"Call a doctor!" someone yells.

Sherlock has to sit down before he passes out.

* * *

At the hospital, the Watson's are told to let John rest. He's got a case of pneumonia, but he should be alright.

Sherlock _ran_ across town to the hospital, so he gets there long after the Watson's are given a prognosis. "_Should_"doesn't sit well with Sherlock, so he stumbles back onto the waiting room sofa and clutches his chest.

"He's alright, son," James tells Sherlock.

Sherlock looks up at him and nods.

"You can see him," Elizabeth kindly says. "We went in, but you're welcome to go."

Sherlock nods again, then goes down the hall where he was instructed and finds John sitting up in a bed eating Jell-o.

John smiles when he sees Sherlock.

Sherlock practically runs to him from the door.

John holds his hand out and Sherlock eagerly takes it.

"I was so scared," Sherlock whispers, stroking John's hair.

John rubs Sherlock's free hand that is now resting on his stomach. "I'm fine, see? I'm alright."

Sherlock nods and kisses his forehead, then his nose, then his lips.

* * *

_**A/N: Don't worry. It ends up okay eventually. Just a lot of emotional stuff coming up.**_


	9. Grass

_**A/N: John gets up to no good in this chapter. But don't worry. It all ends up good. At the end. You have to get through a few chapters of angst first.**_

* * *

John is discharged two days later. James takes him for the last once-over from his doctor, and he leaves John alone to talk with the doctor.

"What's been on your mind, son?" the doctor asks. "Your dad says you've been acting funny lately."

John shrugs. "Just the usual stuff, sir. School, football and basketball, baseball's comin' up-"

"Girls?" the doctor asks.

John shakes his head. "No, sir."

"Ahh, yes," the doctor says. "Your daddy tells me you're, uh…now what's the correct term? Not one for the ladies, right son?"

John laughs. "Well, I…I'm not _not _one for the ladies, I just…I've been seein' this boy."

"Ahh," the doctor says. "The boy who's been around while you're here?"

"Yes, sir."

"You two look happy," the doctor says. "So, what's the problem?"

"Just usual teen stuff, sir."

"Trouble on the intimacy front?"

John hesitantly nods.

"Well, not much you can do about that, son. Stress, anxiety, I can fix. Lack of sex, that's not anything I can help with."

John laughs. "My dad," he explains, "He says I should just find a girl who'll go with me. What do you think, doc?"

"You love that boy, Watson?"

John nods. "Yes, sir. I do."

"Then don't. Love's not anything you find every day. You can control it. It doesn't control you."

"Alright," John says, then gets up to leave.

* * *

John doesn't call Sherlock once he's out. He feels guilty that he can't control his thoughts and feelings. He thinks there's something wrong with him, but when every boy in the locker room is talking about the girly they took out the weekend before, and even his sister is getting more than he is, well it's enough to drive a man crazy.

Instead, he calls Charlotte. She's a red headed junior who's just as modern as he is.

He takes her to the beach. She tells him he's brilliant, gorgeous, the most talented boy she's ever seen. She tells him he can take her places, anywhere he wants.

John doesn't mean to do anything with her on the beach. He wants to take her home, to a bed, or he'd even settle for the backseat of his car. But he can't hold it any longer.

It's impossibly pleasurable, better than he thought it'd be. He finally feels relief, but all he can think of is Sherlock.

* * *

Sherlock lets John have his space. He hopes that by the end of school, after graduation, John will call. Sherlock knows John loves him too much to leave for USC without saying goodbye, and he hopes that will re-spark the flame they had for all those months.

* * *

Prom comes four weeks before graduation, and of course Sherlock didn't expect John to take him. John wouldn't, no matter how much John talks of being more open at school. No matter how much John says things like, "The future is now," and "We can't hide forever," dances are for boys and girls and that's final.

Still, he wish he had a little bit of warning before he heard at school that John took Lucy, a perky brunette sophomore who has a list of boys she's gone out with longer than her high school career.

After the weekend of prom, Sherlock finds out that John got invited to play football on a full-ride scholarship from USC. Thomas told him, and Sherlock's surprised Thomas is still talking to James after the boys broke up.

"Business is business, son," Thomas says.

"Uh-huh," Sherlock agrees.

* * *

Part of Sherlock still has faith that John's not having sex with these girls. How can he? John loves Sherlock. He doesn't love those girls.

With two weeks left of school, Sherlock decides it's better if he focuses on his studies. He stops watching John in the hall, he stops going to John's baseball games. He doesn't even plan on attending John's graduation, even though Thomas received an invitation for the whole family in the mail. He puts John out of his immediate thoughts and locks him away in an easily accessible room in his Mind Palace.

* * *

Sherlock goes to English class one day and ignores the stares he receives from fellow students, mostly the stares from the mean girls who sit behind him so they can not-so-secretly read the answers on his quizzes. He confusedly sits in his seat at the front of the class and takes his book out without saying a word.

The girls behind him whisper.

"Got plans for the weekend?" one asks.

"Sure," her friend says. "I've got a date."

"Oh? With who? Got some daddy up north you didn't tell me about?"

Her friend laughs. "I'm going out with John Watson. You know him?"

Sherlock sucks in a quick breath. His cheeks heat up and he instantly feels nauseous.

"Know him? Who doesn't?"

Another girl laughs. "I heard Lucy _knew_ him last."

Sherlock's heart just about breaks.

"Ain't she pregnant?"

Sherlock snaps a pencil in his hands.

The girls behind him gasp.

"Everything alright, Mister Holmes?" his teacher asks.

Sherlock doesn't trust himself to speak. His breathing is growing faster and faster, his heart is beating rapidly. He's had anxiety attacks before; he knows this is the early stages of one.

He nods instead of saying anything.

"Good. Why don't you read today's poem, please?"

Sherlock frowns, then finds the right page in his book and begins to read.

"_What though the radiance_

_Which was once so bright_

_Be now for ever taken from my sight,"_

Sherlock swallows hard. His breathing speeds up more. He pants shallowly and his head begins to feel light. Thinking of John and that girl, all the other girls, is unbearable.

"_Though nothing can bring back the hour_—"

He thinks about wanting John back. Getting John back would stop him from going out with the girls.

"_Of splendor in the grass,_

_of glory in the flower,"_

_If I'd just let him…_ Sherlock thinks. _Let him have what he wanted and he wouldn't have had to get it from someone else._

"_We will not grieve, not rather find_

_Strength in what remains behind;"_

He can't, he can't, he _can't_ cry now. John is gone. John is not his anymore, and he's got nobody to blame but himself.

"_In the primal sympathy_

_Which having been must ever be;_

_In the soothing thoughts that spring_

_Out of human suffering_;"

Suffering, suffering, suffering…

"_In the faith that looks through death,_

_In years that bring the philosophic mind."_

Harvard isn't worth this. He wants John, he needs John.

He lets out a soft sniffle. The girls behind him giggle.

Sherlock looks up at his teacher.

"What does it mean, Mister Holmes?"

Sherlock wipes his nose with the back of his hand. "It, uh, it means that…we are innocent until we grow, and that innocence is corrupted with...with things like sex and new knowledge and...all of that."

Sherlock sniffles again. His innocence is still there. If it wasn't, would he be happy?

"And we can never get it back," he continues. "And we have to move on and grown after it."

He lets a tear fall.

"Do you need to be excused, Mister Holmes?"

Sherlock vigorously nods, then runs out of class.

He doesn't make it down to the bathroom before he passes out.


	10. High

_**A/N: Tough stuff this chapter. **_

_**WARNING for self harm, drug use, underage drinking and a bit of questionable behavior by a stranger. **_

_**Don't worry. **__**Keep reading. It all gets better. Eventually. This is chapter 10 of 19, so you have to go through a bit of angst before it gets really good.**_

* * *

Sherlock wakes up some time later in the school nurse's office. His dad is there waiting to take him home, and he gladly goes, needing to get out of school as fast as he can. He can't be at school anymore, not after the realization that everyone was staring at him because they know about him and John, and what's worse is that they know about John and all the girls.

"Maybe a hot bath will sooth your nerves," Thomas says once they arrive home.

"Sure," Sherlock says, marching up the stairs to the bath.

* * *

He's in for over an hour. He lets the plug go and refills the tub three times before there's a knock on the door.

"Go away!" Sherlock calls.

His brother steps through anyway.

Sherlock draws his knees to his chest and sighs. "What do you want?"

"We need to talk."

"Do we?"

Mycroft stands to the side and crosses his arms over his chest, trying to look intimidating. "What happened today?"

Sherlock leans down, resting his head on his arms folded on his knees. Then, he shrugs.

"A panic attack, the nurse said. Why?"

Sherlock shrugs again.

"Because of John?"

Sherlock shrugs harder.

"I told you having sex would—"

Sherlock sits up. He's angry now. "I didn't, okay?! I didn't have sex with him and I'm still in this mess, aren't I?"

"What do you mean you didn't—"

"I mean I didn't! I haven't! We kissed, that's all! And he went and found himself a girl, ten girls from what I've heard and now…I hear one's pregnant!"

"Sherlock—"

"I would still have him if it wasn't for you!"

"Sherlock, stop!"

Sherlock stands and climbs out of the bath. He yanks a towel off the rack and steps towards the door.

"Shut up, Mycroft. Just stop! I listened to you and look where that got me!"

"He's leaving this summer, Sherlock. And next year you can focus on your studies for Harvard."

"Shut up!" Sherlock yells again. This time, he shoves his brother aside and hurries out of the room.

He throws some underpants on once he gets to his bedroom, then he goes on a rampage. Shoes are thrown everywhere, shirts are torn for the sake of ripping something apart. He throws wooden shirt hangers at the wall; one hits his mirror and it shatters into a dozen pieces. He yells at nothing, then he picks up a shard of glass and squeezes until he feels blood pump out of his hand.

He drops the glass before he can do any more damage. He throws his clothes on and runs out of the house before anyone can stop him.

* * *

Sherlock walks south, towards the bad side of town. He doesn't mean to, he's not walking anywhere in particular. It's just that John's house is north, and he wants to be as far away from that vineyard as possible.

* * *

It's getting dark out. The light in the street is from passing cars and the few businesses still open. Nobody offers Sherlock a ride or offers him inside, and for that he is thankful.

He walks until he doesn't want to walk anymore. He figures he'll turn back and walk all the way home or else find a still-open business to call his dad, but he can't think about it before he notices a group of boys blocking his route on the sidewalk.

They whistle at him as he walks by. Surely they're looking for a fight, so Sherlock ignores them and keeps walking.

"What's up, pretty boy?" one of them calls to him.

He doesn't turn around. He doesn't say anything back.

The guy follows him. Sherlock speeds up.

"Aye, where you goin', doll?"

The guy catches up to Sherlock. Sherlock wants to run away, but he can't. He's stuck in shock, accepting whatever fate this bimbo gives him.

"Bad day?" the guy asks.

Sherlock doesn't say anything.

"Want some help?"

Sherlock eyes him but doesn't stop walking. "Help?"

The guy pulls plastic from his pocket. Inside the seal is white powder.

"What's that?" Sherlock asks.

"Coke. Want some?"

"What's it do?"

The guy laughs. "It's a drug, babe. You snort it up your nose and get high."

"High?"

The guy laughs harder. "Come on, honey. Do I have a world for you..."

* * *

Sherlock follows. The guy takes him to a party with a lot of other people. Most of them are much older than him, and they're still sober, so an older girl gets his still-bloody hand cleaned up and someone else hands him a drink. He downs it in one gulp.

The guy who brought him laughs at the face he makes at the taste of the drink. "Slow down there, babe. We've got all night."

Someone shows him how to snort the cocaine shortly after he gets there. They all laugh when he doesn't quite do it right, but Sherlock's determined and a fast learner, so he gets it up and tries to relax.

He feels great quickly. _High _is exactly how it sounds. He feels above the clouds; he feels the way he did the first time John took him onto the mountain overlooking the vineyard.

Sherlock pushes John out of his head. Soon after the high starts, the guy who brought him is kissing him right there on the sofa in front of everyone. Sherlock lets him, feeling too slow to tell him to stop.

* * *

When Sherlock wakes up, it's light out. He finds a clock and discovers that it's six in the morning. School starts in two hours, but since he feels like throwing up, he's in no mood to attend. Not to mention what happened yesterday, he'd be the laughing stock of the entire campus.

He feels too sick to walk all the way home, but since he can't find a phone, it's either walk or hail a cab. He checks his pockets and finds no money.

The guy is where Sherlock left him when he went to find a clock. He crouches down and pats the guy's cheek.

"Mmm?" he sighs awake. "What's up, babe?"

"Can I borrow some dough?"

"Sure, love," the guy says, sitting up and pulling out his wallet. He hands Sherlock a small wad of cash. "Gettin' out of here?"

Sherlock nods. "I have school."

The guy smiles. "Good luck, babe. Here," he takes another pack of coke out of his pocket and gives it to Sherlock. "If you ever need more, you know where to find me."

Sherlock takes it and nods. He moves to stand, but he realizes there's something he needs to know before he leaves. "Hey, uhm, did we…you know?"

The guy shakes his head. "You passed out before we could. So if you ever want to pick up where we left off…" he glances south on Sherlock's body and grins. "Find me."

Sherlock doesn't say anything to that. He quickly stands and leaves.

* * *

Sherlock gets home to find Thomas on the phone, giving Sherlock's description to someone, and Mycroft frantically pacing the sitting room.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft yells as he enters the house. "Dad, he's here!"

He hears Thomas hang up while Mycroft rushes to him. He takes Sherlock's head in his big hands and examines his eyes.

"Where have you been?" Mycroft demands.

Sherlock yanks his head away. "Out."

"You've been gone all night."

"Brilliant observation, Mycroft, really."

"Sherlock!" Thomas yells. "Tell us where you have been!"

"The top of the world, Daddy," he says, then goes to the stairs.

"Are you going to school?" Mycroft calls after him.

"Nope!"

Sherlock takes a bath, this time it's quick so he can get out before he throws up. He feels terrible. His mouth is dry, his eyes hurt, not to mention the sting in his nose.

He goes to bed right after his bath.

* * *

Mycroft is there when he goes downstairs for lunch. He offers to fix Sherlock a sandwich, but Sherlock only gets crackers and cheese to take to the table.

"Where were you?" Mycroft asks again.

"I honestly have no idea," Sherlock says.

"Were you at John's?"

"Nope."

"How do we know you're telling the truth?"

"Because John was probably out with some bearcat givin' her a baby, too."

"That's what this is about?" Mycroft asks.

"It's never about anything else."

"So he's really gone out with a girl?"

"Apparently," Sherlock says. "A dozen, for all I know."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock stands with his plate of crackers. "You should be," he mutters, then takes his lunch upstairs.


	11. Lucky

_**A/N: WARNING for attempted suicide. It gets better I promise! This is the darkest I've ever written, I don't think I've ever directly addressed drug use. Sorry. But like I said, it gets better! **_

* * *

When Sherlock finally hears Mycroft leave, he sneaks downstairs for a bottle of any bit of alcohol he can find. There's a nearly empty bottle of whiskey, but he finds a full bottle of wine and takes that upstairs instead.

Between long swigs of wine straight from the bottle and smashing his mirror into smaller pieces with the heel of a boot, he toys with the baggy of coke. He feels awful, today is worse than yesterday, but he's all cried out and can't sleep either.

Sherlock looks at himself in one of the larger shards of glass mirror. He looks ridiculous. His eyes are too slanted, his nose too small for his long face, his lips are too fat. He's a mess of absurd traits and there's nothing he can control.

What Sherlock can control is his hair. His stupid hair. He liked it once, way back when John told him it made him beautiful, that it looked like he has a perfect angel halo on his head.

He hates it now, can't stand the look of it.

In his desk drawer is a thick pair of scissors, so he gets them out and chops away. Thick clumps of black fall off his head; they resemble rain clouds or puffs of smoke from a car: ugly things.

Soon his hair is short enough to barely run his fingers through, and Sherlock's satisfied.

* * *

Sherlock finishes the bottle within the hour and finally squints his blurry eyes at the label. He recognizes the logo as the Watson family's company, so Sherlock unlatches the lock on the window and swings it open. He chucks the bottle out and grins when it explodes on the street.

He starts to think about how his family will be home soon and he doesn't want to deal with them. They'll want to talk to him about yesterday, about where he was last night, maybe about the missing bottle of wine.

He doesn't want to deal with it. He wants to be gone, like last night.

Sherlock tries to remember how that guy prepared the coke last night and mimics his actions. Right or wrong, he gets it in his body and quickly feels as great as he did the night before.

After a while, Sherlock loses track of everything. He wonders if he's still breathing; he wonders why everything's gone pitch black. He doesn't really feel his body hit the ground at all.

His last complete thought is spent wondering if the dark, cold silence is heaven or hell.

* * *

"Sherlock?" he hears next to his head. "Sherlock, can you hear me?"

Sherlock blinks his eyes and tries to focus, but everything is blurry.

"Relax, it's alright."

Sherlock blinks towards the voice. "Myc?"

"You're in the hospital. How much coke did you take?"

Sherlock manically laughs. "A lot."

"Sherlock..." Mycroft sighs, disappointed.

"It didn't kill me?" Sherlock asks.

"Did you want it to?"

Sherlock nods. His head is heavy.

"I'm going to talk to dad. Go back to sleep."

Sherlock nods again, letting his head land back on a pillow while he closes his eyes.

* * *

It's light out the window when he wakes up. It was light when he talked to Mycroft, but now it's dusk light. The sun is going down.

"He's awake," a soft female voice says.

Sherlock's eyes bolt open. Maybe it is heaven, for the woman's voice sounds an awful lot like his mother's, what he remembers. But it's not. He closes his eyes again when he sees a short blonde nurse smiling at him.

"Sherlock?"

A softer deep voice. A boy, young boy. Sherlock feels like throwing up.

"What do you want?" he asks, not opening his eyes or turning his head to face the boy.

John strokes his hair. His short, bristly hair.

"What happened, Sherlock?"

Sherlock shrugs. "What's it to ya?"

John's fingers trail down his cheek.

"Why'd you do this?" John asks.

"Lotta nerve you have asking me that."

"I'm sorry."

Sherlock finally looks at him. "You broke me, John. Do you understand? I'm the laughing stock of Salinas High School because...because of you."

"And I'm so, so sorry."

Sherlock turns away. "Don't you have some pregnant deb to get to?"

John snorts. "What?"

"Isn't Lucy pregnant?"

John laughs. "If she is, it ain't by me."

Sherlock looks at him, confused. "What?"

"I only took her to a dance, that's all."

"What about Charlotte? Mindy? Beth? Avery? Sarah? Jeannie? Nina?"

"Sherlock, Sherlock. Stop. Sure, I took 'em all out, but..."

"How many of them did you have sex with?"

John clears his throat. "Just two...or three..."

Sherlock turns his entire body away from John. "Leave."

John stands and places a hand on Sherlock's hip. "I'm leavin' at the end of the month, not long after graduation."

"Lucky you," Sherlock whispers, and with that John leaves.

* * *

Sherlock doesn't return to school once he's released from the hospital. With less than a month left, he isn't going to miss much anyway. Instead, Thomas takes him north to San Francisco so Sherlock can go to a real hospital that has a psychiatric ward. After his suicide attempt via drug overdose, Thomas doesn't trust Sherlock in their home in Salinas anymore. He doesn't want Sherlock to have access to anything in the outside world, and this hospital will make solitary confinement possible.

He's to be there for six months, which means he won't be out until Thanksgiving. But it doesn't matter to Sherlock. Maybe missing all that school will make going to Harvard impossible.

* * *

His family doesn't visit. Thomas keeps his distance, claiming over the phone that the business needs him every time there's a visiting weekend. But Sherlock knows that Salinas is a small enough town that everyone must know of what happened, and without visiting, Thomas can deny any facts, making the excuse that Sherlock went to Harvard early like his brother. Parents don't visit their kids at college, so the idiots of Salinas would gladly accept that excuse.

Mycroft has a valid excuse, being away at his last year of Harvard. He doesn't call, though. Sherlock knows he's ashamed of having a little brother who tried to take his own life. That's worse than having a little brother with a boyfriend.


	12. October

_**A/N: What oh what are we going to do with John Watson in this story? He's up to no good. Thanks for reading, please review!**_

* * *

John spends all summer working. He finds a farm right outside of Los Angeles that welcomes him to work, and he couldn't be happier. Most of the boys he works with are soon-to-be students of USC or UCLA too, and they're all impressed that he's a football star.

The only thing that John doesn't like is when the boys share the letters they exchange with their girlfriends waiting for them back at home. He's the only single one, and when they talk about their girls and words of love, he can't help but miss Sherlock. He doesn't care about those girls he went with before he left, he cares about Sherlock.

It kills him that he doesn't even know if Sherlock's okay. Last he heard was that Sherlock was being sent away, and that leaves him wondering where Sherlock even is. Thomas Holmes sold back his share of the vineyard, sold back the stocks he'd invested in last year, so he doesn't call John's dad anymore.

John stops paying attention to one of the boys reading a letter. He can't stand words of love, words of hope and happiness, and if being unable to listen to or feel any of those things ever again is punishment for hurting Sherlock so badly, John will gladly accept his fate.

Someone hits his chest to get his attention. "Okay, Johnny?" the guy asks.

John grips his shovel tighter and nods.

"Thinkin' about your lady?"

John shakes his head. "I haven't got a lady."

"No? Stud like you don't have a honey waitin' back home?"

John shakes his head again. "Nope."

"Well, it's your lucky day 'cause boss's daughter's been eyein' ya every afternoon."

John stands up straight and leans on his shovel. "Which daughter?"

"The older one, the brunette."

"Older one?" John repeats, shoveling again. "Ain't she nearly twenty-five?"

"You know what they say about older women," his friend says. "Lots of experience."

John laughs. He just so happens to glance towards the stable to see the boss's brunette daughter slipping through the doors. She gives him a quick wink before she disappears.

* * *

John stays back in the field behind everyone once their shift is over, then he goes to the stable to use that hose to wash up. He tosses his dirty shirt over the wall and washes the dirt off his skin as much as he can. He faces the stable wall, but he turns around when he hears horse hooves running towards him.

It's her, the boss's daughter, dressed in riding trousers and boots. She's got on a button down shirt that looks like it belongs to man. It's buttoned conservatively to the second button from the top and tied below the top of her trousers.

"Shift over?" she asks, hopping off her horse.

John nods.

"Got the time?"

John gazes at the sun. "Should be five by now."

She leads her horse towards the stable doors. "I've got to meet my fiancé in a half hour."

"Fiancé?"

She nods, then takes her horse inside. John shuts the water off and dries himself with his shirt, then slips it back on.

She returns in seconds, her shirt missing a few more buttons and tied above her belly button now. John can't help but to look down the open shirt at her chest.

"Cuttin' out, then?" John asks.

"I've got time," she says, then she unceremoniously drops to her knees and works John's jeans down.

He doesn't stop her. It's the first time a girl's ever done this to him, and he momentarily thanks god that she's an older girl.

* * *

Their affair lasts all summer. John's boss never finds out, he just thinks John's a dedicated worker for staying back in the field so long after his shift ends.

* * *

She announces she's pregnant right before school starts in September. She promises it's not John's, saying that even if it was she has to say it's her fiancé's. John realizes for the first time what that fear of unwanted pregnancy really is, so he inwardly vows to keep his head on and focus on studies instead of girls.

It's easy, because football starts as soon as school does. He excels on the field, just like he did in high school. The coaches love him, the team appoints him a leader quickly, and he feels great despite the fact that he can't wake up for class most days.

Since there's no more field work for him to do, he starts to wear more appropriate school clothes like sweaters and trousers. He hates it. He doesn't feel like himself. He doesn't feel at home.

He wonders if football is worth this.

* * *

The October weather brings along talks of what's going on in New York. It's not in the news, it's not in papers, but since John's daddy is a stock mogul who travels that way every month to take part in the exchange, John knows something fishy's going on.

John's grades are slipping as early as the end of October. The administration calls John's parents to ask them for a meeting.

James and Elizabeth make the trip for the meeting. John sees them for the first time at the school, and James looks disappointed.

The meeting is an hour long discussion about how John needs to focus on his work and actually go to class. James says he'll make sure John does his work, and that he's going to take John to New York for a weekend holiday. John says over and over that he doesn't want to go, but he doesn't have a choice when James tells him that he has to.


	13. New York City

_**A/N: Warning for minor character death. And John still not keepin' it in his pants. Damn him.**_

* * *

John and James get settled in their hotel as soon as they arrive. It's the hotel where James stays every time he's in New York, so it's more like an apartment for them. John has his own bedroom, so he locks himself away to get some space from his father.

He can hear James on the phone, though. The walls are thin and James is loud.

"What?!" James yells, "What do you m-What crisis?!-Calm down boy, this ain't a crisis!-It's fine!-It'll bounce back within the night.-Hogwash. I'm takin' my son to dinner. Goodbye!"

James storms through John's bedroom door. "Come along, son. We have reservations."

* * *

Their reservation is in the hotel restaurant. It's fancy, everyone's wearing suits, so John feels out of place wearing just a sweater and trousers. James doesn't let him change, so John uncomfortably sits to eat.

At least the waitress is beautiful, that's what John cares about. She flirts with him when she serves their drinks and takes their order, and John swoons when he hears her speaking French to another waiter.

* * *

James gets a call in the middle of their meal. He sweats nervously as he talks frantically, then he quickly stands to leave.

"I'm sorry, son. I've got to go."

"Everything alright?"

"Sure. I'll be back soon."

John nods in understanding.

James steps around the table as he buttons his suit jacket. "I love you son," he says, then kisses John's head and takes off.

The waitress comes to his table as soon as James is out of the restaurant. "Okay?" she asks.

John nods. "Yeah. Business stuff, I guess."

"Do you want anything else?" she asks.

John shakes his head. "As a matter of fact, can I get this sent up to our apartment?"

"In this hotel?"

John nods.

"Sure," she says.

She takes down his room number, then John leaves.

* * *

There's a knock on his door half an hour later. He eagerly hops off his bed to answer it, and he's pleased to open the door to the waitress's beautiful face.

She smiles as she enters. "Special delivery," she says, her voice low and seductive and gorgeous.

He takes the plate out of her hand and sets it on the entry table. Then he places a hand on her hip and kisses her while pushing her against the wall. She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses back.

She works her lips away and he kisses her neck.

"I'm Mary by the way," she whispers.

"John," he says back. He pulls away to take her hand, then he leads her to his bedroom.

* * *

The phone rings just after midnight. John gets out of bed and shuffles into the living room to answer it. It rings and rings and John has no idea who it is or what it's about but he answers anyway.

"John Watson?" a burly voice greets him.

"Yes."

The man gives his name and says he's a New York police officer.

"What can I do for you, officer?"

"I have some bad news, son. Your father's body has been found downtown."

John swallows hard. "My father's body?"

"I'm sorry, son. You need to come down and identify the body."

John takes down the address and hangs up the phone.

Mary's sitting up in his bed when he returns.

"Alright?" she asks.

John shrugs. "My father's dead. Gotta go identify the body."

Mary gasps. "My god, I'm so sorry."

"It's..." he stops. Saying it's okay sounds insensitive and he doesn't know her well enough to open up about the shock he's in. "Thanks," he says instead. He gets dressed as fast as he can.

"You can stay here," John tells her. "Just go back to sleep."

"Are you sure?"

John nods. "I'll be back in no time."

He kisses her bare shoulder once, then he leaves.

* * *

John arrives and they show him the body quickly. John just nods and they cover the body again.

"That's him," John says. He clears his throat, choking down a little bit of emotion. "Uhm...how?"

"Jumped out of a window," the officer says. "Not the first one today. The suicide rate is off the charts thanks to today alone."

"Why?" John asks, confused.

"Stock market crashed, boy. Your daddy was in stocks?"

John frowns and nods. "What time did this happen?"

The officer flips through his notes. "Looks like it was around eleven PM on October 29, 1929."

John nods again.

"You got somewhere to go, boy? How old are you?"

"I'm fine," John says.

"Got anyone we need to call?"

John shakes his head. "I'll tell my mother, thanks."

The officer grasps his shoulder in a comforting way, then he leads John out of the room.

* * *

John goes back to finish the semester at USC. He gets through the football season while hardly playing, but the Trojans still come in first place in their conference.

He calls Mary every day. He feels himself fall in love with her. It's not the same as when he fell in love with Sherlock, but it's love nonetheless. He welcomes it greatly.

Since they lost most of their money in the stock market crash, Elizabeth had to let go all the labor workers in the vineyard. No working means no wine, and no wine means no income. No income means Elizabeth needing to sell the house.

John gets all the money he had saved and what little money his dad didn't lose in the stock market and pays the bills until summer. He returns home to take care of his mama and the fields, and he invites Mary to move there with him.

* * *

Sherlock spends his last therapy session excited to go home. It's been six months since he's seen his dad and he's eager to pick up where he left off. This time he's a new, better man.

He goes back to Salinas only for Thanksgiving, but he goes to Harvard with Mycroft afterwards. Mycroft lets Sherlock live with him so that Sherlock can get his bearings across the country to be able to apply next Fall.

* * *

"How do you feel?" Mycroft asks on the plane back to Harvard.

Sherlock shrugs. "Fine."

"How was your...stay?"

"It was alright."

"You made progress?"

"They let me out, didn't they?"

Mycroft doesn't say anything to that.

"Have you...heard anything?" Sherlock hesitantly asks.

"I hear lots of things, you're going to have to be more specific."

Sherlock sighs, annoyed. "About John."

Mycroft shakes his head. "I'm not telling."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't need to concern yourself with him anymore."

"Fine," Sherlock mutters.

* * *

There's no way for him to know anything about John without Mycroft telling him. He has no contact with anyone back in Salinas, and his father knows it's better Sherlock not hear about John.

It hurts him, of course, because he still misses John. But he knows he can't concern himself with worrying anymore. He got out of that bad place and he's staying that way.


	14. Here

Months go by very busily for Sherlock. Mycroft encourages him to make friends, look around for work, to learn how to drive, and to travel as much as he can. Sherlock takes trips to New York City on the train and absolutely falls in love with it. The tall buildings, the bright lights, the excitement. Being in that city is a high enough that he needs.

He doesn't touch drugs again. He smokes, sure, but it's 1930 and everyone smokes. He doesn't drink much either, but he actually smiles when he comes across a wine made from the Watson vineyard back in Salinas. The smile surprises him, but he chooses not to drink it.

* * *

John and Mary work in the vineyard alone to maintain the plants. They can't hire anyone because money is tight, but Mary gets a little bit of money each month from her parents back in New York. It's not much, but it's enough for the necessary things they need.

John doesn't think about being happy anymore. It doesn't matter whether or not he's happy, just as long as he's still moving on earth.

They don't get married. They don't see a point. They're very careful to not get pregnant, because they don't have the money to support a family. It's enough having to support John's mother.

* * *

Thomas lets Sherlock return to Salinas in July, the middle of the summer. Thomas is getting ready to sell the house to move to the east coast with the boys, so Mycroft and Sherlock go for one last goodbye to their childhood home.

In the car on the way from the airport, Sherlock's staring out the window watching the world go by. He thinks of John, which he doesn't do often anymore. He remembers the first time his dad took him to the Watson house to tutor John. He felt nervous because of how much he liked John already, and suddenly he feels that same pang of nerves again.

"I want to see him," Sherlock says. "I'm ready to see him. I'll see him while I'm in California."

"No," is all Mycroft says.

Sherlock doesn't say anything more, but it's not the end of the discussion.

* * *

Sherlock spends the entire evening and next day helping his dad pack. Thomas is happy he's there, and Sherlock silently forgives him for not visiting while Sherlock was stuck in San Francisco last year. All is forgotten, because Sherlock is happier now.

"You look great, son," Thomas says over and over. He comments that Sherlock's hair's grown back, that he looks fitting in jeans, that the extra six inches he gained makes him look more grown up, and that the little bit of extra weight on his face looks good.

Sherlock happily smiles while his dad tells him these things. "I feel great Dad," he says back.

* * *

He asks to see John again two days after he's arrived. Mycroft says no again.

"At least tell me how he is," Sherlock argues.

"No," Mycroft repeats.

"Is he still at USC?"

Mycroft just looks at Sherlock and doesn't say anything.

They're in the kitchen, which is connected to the dining room, which is where his dad is sorting papers. Sherlock doesn't think Thomas can hear them, but while he and Mycroft are having a stare down, Thomas makes it known that he can hear them.

"He's not, Sherlock," Thomas calls through rooms.

Sherlock looks over at the doorway, then he glances at Mycroft once and takes off towards the dining room. Mycroft rushes after him, and in a childish race of who-can-get-to-dad-first, Mycroft elbows Sherlock in the chest and Sherlock grabs his arm and bites it.

"Ow!" Mycroft yells.

"You two settle down," Thomas shouts. "I'm not above givin' my grown sons a beatin'!"

Sherlock and Mycroft take opposite ends of the table and glare at each other as they sit.

"Dad," Mycroft finally says, "I don't think it's a good idea to tell Sherlock about John."

"Mycroft, my eldest son, you are wise beyond your years, I know. But sometimes I get to be dad, see? I want Sherlock to hear this. And he can do what he pleases with the information."

"But—"

"Shut up, Mycroft. Let me talk to Sherlock."

Mycroft sits back against his chair and crosses his arms.

Thomas turns to Sherlock.

"Listen, son. A lot has happened in the past year, alright?"

Sherlock sits up straight to pay better attention. "Alright…"

"John…John's fine. He wasn't doin' too well at USC, right? Boy's never been good at school, you know that. James took him to New York for a weekend to take John's mind off things. It was the day the stock crashed last year. And James…"

Sherlock frowns. "What happened?"

"Jumped out of a window, they say. That's the story. John returned alone and barely finished out the semester."

"Oh god," Sherlock sighs, looking down at the table to gather his thoughts.

"Word is he met a girl that weekend in New York. Some people see her around here, buyin' groceries and things. Always cheap with the money, since John's runnin' the vineyard alone now."

Sherlock's gaze snaps up to his dad. "John's in Salinas?"

Thomas nods. "He's here. He ain't ever leavin'."

Sherlock nods in understanding.

Thomas reaches in his pocket and takes out the car's key. He tosses it across the table at Sherlock. Sherlock curiously looks at his dad.

"Go," Thomas says. "At least see for yourself."

Sherlock scrambles from the table, as if John will be gone any second and he's limited on time.

He's not; he's not limited on time. John is there. John will be there.

Sherlock pauses before he's out the door. He goes back for one more question.

"He doesn't have a bunch of kids, does he?"

Thomas laughs. "Son, you've only been gone a little over a year!"

Sherlock laughs back. "Alright!" he calls as he's exiting the house.


	15. Wine

**A/N: I really** **_like this chapter and I hope you guys do too!_**

* * *

Sherlock wants to speed to the vineyard, but he takes his time. He thinks up a script in his head, things he wants to say to John.

_Hello, John. _

_How are you? _

_So sorry to hear about your dad._

Sherlock's heart stutters.

_Do you still love me? Even though you're with this girl now? _

* * *

Sherlock gets to the house and parks where John used to park his car. No doubt John sold the car shortly after his dad died. Sherlock shuts off the loud engine and suddenly feels scared.

What if John isn't pleased to see him? What's the girl like? What if he makes a fool of himself?

He gets out of the car anyway. He does it feeling like he's having an out-of-body experience.

Sherlock gets to the front door and is about to knock when he hears someone clearing their throat behind him. He turns around and adjusts his eyes, his gaze falling on John.

Sherlock can't help but smile. He brushes his hair out of his eyes and walks back down the steps to where John's standing by the car.

John's smiling. The same old smile. That perfect grin. Sherlock forgot how gorgeous it was.

"Fancy seein' you here," John playfully says.

Sherlock shrugs. "I was in the neighborhood."

John doesn't stop smiling. He looks older, that's something Sherlock notices. He doesn't look like a high school kid anymore; he looks like someone who, within a year of graduating, saw the world in the way it really is.

And since John's not wearing a shirt, Sherlock sees that missing out on a year of sports hasn't diminished his body at all. Working in the field day in and day out is doing well for him.

Sherlock's ashamed that that's something he notices.

John reaches up towards Sherlock's face. Sherlock sucks in a nervous breath as John tugs on a ringlet of hair.

"Hair's back," John says.

Sherlock runs a hand through it. "Yep."

"And you finally hit your growth spurt."

"About time," Sherlock says. "I'm nearly eighteen."

John still smiles. Sherlock has to look away.

"Look," Sherlock says, squinting at the sun setting beyond the house. He continues, "I'm sorry to hear about your dad."

John's grin doesn't fall. He cocks his head to the side. "You came all this way to tell me that?"

Sherlock shakes his head. "No. I came all this way because…" Sherlock looks at John and playfully grins. "I haven't had a glass of wine in over a year."

John laughs. He pats Sherlock's arm and nods towards the house. "Come on. I want you to meet someone."

* * *

Sherlock's not as sad as he thought he'd be when he walks into the kitchen and sees a beautiful blonde muttering to herself in French. Her back is to them, and when they walk in John whistles to get her attention.

"Mmm?" she sounds, turning around. She confusedly looks at Sherlock. "Oh, hello."

"Honey," John says, going to her and pulling her towards Sherlock. "This is Sherlock Holmes. An old…" John pauses at the wrong time. "Uh, friend."

Mary slowly nods and holds her hand out. "Pleasure, Mister Holmes."

"Sherlock is in town visiting from…"

"Massachusetts," Sherlock adds.

"Massachusetts?" John asks in awe. "Wow. That's amazing."

Sherlock half smiles.

Mary clears her throat. "Uh…won't you stay for dinner, Mister Holmes?"

"Sherlock, please," Sherlock says. "And…sure, I'd like that."

John smiles. He directs Sherlock to a chair and asks him to sit. "Let me get you that wine."

John disappears from the kitchen and Mary sets a glass in front of Sherlock. "So, how do you know John?"

"We went to school together," Sherlock says.

"Oh," Mary sighs.

She doesn't say anything else, so there's an awkward silence before John returns. Sherlock can't think of anything to say to her either.

"So," John sits after he's poured Sherlock a glass. "How are you? What's new?"

"Oh, not much. My dad's sellin' the house. That's why I'm here."

John nods. "Been at Harvard all this time?"

"Yeah," Sherlock says, not wanting to tell John that he was really in San Francisco. "What happened with USC?"

"Oh, you know me!" John cries. "School just got harder and harder to do. I missed it up here. I needed to come home."

Sherlock nods in understanding.

Mary serves dinner a second later. She kisses John's head and Sherlock just watches like it's in slow motion as her lips touch John.

"Hey," John softly says to her. He pats his still-bare chest. "Can you get me a shirt?"

"Sure," she says with a forced smile, then leaves the kitchen.

John doesn't notice what Sherlock sees. He just smiles at Sherlock while she's gone.

"I'm sure glad to see you," John says.

* * *

Sherlock leaves right after dinner. John walks him out to the car, but Mary decides to stay in and wash the dishes.

"It's great that you came out here," John says.

"Yeah, it was."

"I haven't much thought of when I'd see you again. Seeing as how you were…god knows where."

"I had to see you at least once before I go back to Massachusetts."

"When do you leave again?"

"Day after tomorrow."

John nods. "Well. I'm here all day. Stop by again."

"Sure," Sherlock says. "Maybe I will."

John looks at Sherlock and slowly leans in to kiss Sherlock's cheek. It's a friendly gesture, people do it all the time, so Sherlock doesn't think anything more of it.

"Don't be a stranger," John says, lightly squeezing Sherlock's hand.

"Right," Sherlock replies, then he gets in the car and leaves.

* * *

John helps Mary clean up the rest of the dishes, then they retire to bed. Mary changes from her dress right there in the bedroom while John sits on the bed to pull his boots off.

His back is to her. He can't see thin tears falling over her cheeks.

"That's him, isn't it?" Mary asks once she's in a sleep shirt.

"Who?" John asks back.

"The boy you were in love with before you met me."

John sighs and turns to look at her. "What?"

Mary kneels on the bed across from him. "The boy. I know it's him."

"Why do you think that?"

"I know you were in love before me. You never said a name, so I had the idea that maybe it was a boy. And the way you looked at him."

"How'd I look at him?"

Mary wipes her eyes. "In a way you've never looked at me."

"Hey, hey," John whispers. He holds his hand out for her. "Come here."

Mary climbs over to sit on John's lap. John cradles her close and kisses her head.

"I love you," John whispers.

"I love you, too."

* * *

John lays awake later that night. He holds Mary close to his chest and she holds the arm around her. It's the closest they've been in bed for weeks. They've hardly even kissed anymore. It's almost like John subconsciously knew Sherlock would be visiting soon, and he wanted to ready himself for whatever that meant.

"Do you still love him?" she suddenly asks. It's so quiet that John almost doesn't hear her.

But he knew she was awake. He was anticipating that question.

"What's it matter?" he asks back.

"It matters because…because love is a big thing."

"It wouldn't matter to me if I do. I love you."

"And I love you, John," she says. "Which is why I'm going to leave."

"Why?" John asks.

"There's still time for you to be with him."

"There isn't," John argues. "We've moved on. We've grown up. He's gone."

"First love like that doesn't move on, John. You deserve to be with him."

John squeezes her tighter. "What will you do?"

"I'll go home. My mother's been asking me to since I left anyway."

John doesn't say anything. Mary turns around in his arms.

She places a hand on his cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

"_I'm _sorry," he tells her.

She lightly kisses his lips.

* * *

John lets her go the next morning. He convinces himself that it has nothing to do with Sherlock; he tells himself that it was time they split anyway. She was growing antsy out at the vineyard, John could tell she was itching for city life once again.

He kisses her one last time, then watches her cab kick up dirt along the driveway.


	16. Heart

While Sherlock's packing the last of his possessions the next morning, he comes across his notebooks from high school. He looks through all of the papers and finds nothing important, so he tosses it all in the trash. Everything, that is, except the program he saved from John's championship football game.

He wants to take it over to John to show him. Plus, it's the perfect excuse to go out to the vineyard again.

Sherlock eagerly knocks on the door once he gets to John's house. He knocks four times and looks into the front windows before he realizes nobody's going to answer. He hops off the steps towards his car and is about to leave when he remembers that John is probably out in the vineyard.

* * *

Up on the hill: John's favorite place. It's one-hundred percent better when he sees Sherlock Holmes hiking towards him.

"How'd you find me?" John asks.

"I didn't lose my memory when I tried to kill myself," Sherlock answers.

For the first time since they met again, John frowns.

"Sorry."

John doesn't say anything, he just pats the ground next to him.

Sherlock sits cross-legged on the dirt. John's knees are drawn to his chest; he look so fragile. He looks sad. It's no way that Sherlock's ever seen him out in the field.

"I, uh…" Sherlock takes the program out of his pocket. "I found something I wanted to give to you."

"Oh, yeah?" John asks.

Sherlock hands it over. "It's the program from your championship game two years ago. I thought you'd like it."

John smiles. "I never got one of these. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

John reads the front, then opens the page to read the player's names inside. A loud laugh escapes him.

"Is this a heart next to my name?"

Sherlock turns red. "What?!"

John shows him. Sure enough, there's a small heart next to John's name.

"Oh, god…"

John pats his knee while he continues laughing. "It's alright, Sherlock. It's, uh…cute."

Sherlock looks at him. "Cute?"

John nods.

Sherlock smiles. He looks around the field below them, as if searching for someone. "Where's Mary?"

"Uh…out."

Sherlock nods. "And your mother?"

"She's in Carmel visiting her sister."

Sherlock nods again. They're all alone.

"Say," Sherlock starts after a minute. "Where's Harry been?"

"Uh…good question. She took off after my dad's funeral and no one's heard from her since."

"Oh," Sherlock says. "I'm sorry."

John shrugs. "It's fine."

Sherlock picks up a little pile of dirt and plays with it between his fingers.

John laughs. "Never thought I'd live to see the day."

Sherlock drops it and wipes his hands on his jeans. "What?"

"Sherlock Holmes gettin' his hands dirty."

Sherlock laughs, too. "Massachusetts changed me."

John just smiles weakly. "So…" he tentatively asks, "Did you meet anyone out there?"

"Meet anyone?" Sherlock coolly replies, "I met lots of people."

John's eyes snap up to him in shock.

Sherlock laughs and rocks his body until he shoves John playfully. "Not like that, John. I made friends. I didn't…I haven't…_met_ anyone."

John looks out over the field again. "Is it bad that I'm relieved?"

Sherlock shrugs. "Is it bad that I'm relieved that Mary moved out?"

"Moved out?" John asks. "How do you know she moved out?"

"She didn't look happy yesterday."

"Did I?"

"Yes."

"Guess she was right, then."

Sherlock looks at him. "What happened?"

"Uh…" John takes a deep breath. "You know. She accused me of still bein' in love with you and…I dunno, she just left."

"Just like that? Just that easy?"

"It was time," John replies.

"You didn't wanna marry her?"

John shakes his head.

"Why not?"

"Kinda hard to wanna marry someone when you're gonna be stuck on someone else for the rest of your life."

Sherlock looks at him again. His heart beats roughly in his chest. "Who?"

John squints up at the sun, clearly avoiding eye contact. "You," he softly says.

Sherlock can't help the quick smile he gives. "But…" he says, locking eyes with John when John looks at him again. "What about everything else? Every _one _else? Every—"

"Oh Sherlock," John sighs, reaching for him. "Shut up."

John pulls Sherlock's face towards his and kisses him lightly.

* * *

Sherlock progresses the kiss. Obviously, John is afraid to go too far, so he lets Sherlock set the pace. And for that Sherlock is glad. He loves that John's mouth turns soft and compliant against his.

It's as good as he remembers, better even. Now they're older and more mature and still, thankfully, in love.

And now Sherlock doesn't have to stop John. He doesn't have to pull away when his body betrays him. He's old enough to make his own decisions. He doesn't think that having sex with John right now will hurt him; he doesn't think that having sex with John will set back all that he did to get out of the bad place he was in last year. He wants John, that's all he knows.

Sherlock pulls away first anyway. "John…" he sighs.

John presses his forehead against Sherlock's. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…I shouldn't have—"

"No," Sherlock stops him. "It's just…" He looks into John's eyes. "Can we go inside?"

John cracks a smile and huffs out a relieved breath. He quickly stands and pulls Sherlock up too, then they walk hand-in-hand to the house.


	17. Perfect

_**A/N: Warning for sex, finally.**_

* * *

John switched bedrooms with his mother when he moved back. His mother insisted John and Mary get the master, since they were owners of the house now, but John doesn't tell Sherlock any of that. It's not relevant when he's watching Sherlock delicately take off his shoes.

John kicks his off too, and Sherlock laughs when one hits the wall with a loud thud.

"Sorry," John says. "I'm…nervous."

"Nervous? Why?"

John places his hands on Sherlock's neck and looks into his eyes. "Because I love you so much."

Sherlock smiles. He wraps his arms around John's waist. "I love you, too."

John leans in and kisses him again.

After standing there kissing for a few minutes, Sherlock lightly pushes until John falls back against the bed. He sits snuggly on the edge and Sherlock straddles his thighs.

John rubs his hands up and down Sherlock's sides.

John's hands trail up to Sherlock's chest, over his fast-beating heart. Feeling Sherlock, feeling him _really_ there in the flesh, hot and breathing quickly and heavy on his thighs, John starts to think about everything he did to lose this. He missed this, missed Sherlock so much that John wants to kick himself for having lost him. And lost him as bad as he did; he didn't even know where Sherlock was for a year. None of it was worth it, and John knows that.

"Sherlock," John whispers, suddenly overcome with emotion. "I'm sorry about everything that happened back then. I was a stupid boy and I—"

Sherlock touches the pad of his thumb to John's lips. "Ssshh," he sounds. "It doesn't matter anymore."

John nods, puckering his lips to press a kiss to Sherlock's thumb.

Sherlock captures his lips again while inching John's t-shirt up his sides. Sherlock runs the backs of his fingers against John's ribs.

John leans backwards and rips his shirt off over his head. Sherlock delicately touches his sun-kissed chest. John's got scars and scratches, but it's so wonderfully John's skin that he's touching that Sherlock actually laughs against John's lips.

John laughs, too. He pulls away enough to ask, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, just…" Sherlock's forehead presses against John's. They're so close that their noses are touching. Sherlock feels drunk on John's laughter, which makes him laugh more, but soon it dies down. He looks down at his hands rubbing John's gorgeous chest. "I can't believe this is happening," he says in awe.

John wraps his arms around Sherlock, his hands resting at the small of his back. "You want it to, right?"

Sherlock eagerly nods.

John closes the tiny gap between them and kisses him again.

* * *

Sherlock rubs John's shoulders while they kiss, but suddenly he has the need for John's skin against his. It's been too long of wanting this to have to wait any longer, so Sherlock leans back and begins on the buttons of his shirt. His fingers get caught up and he can't quite undo the buttons right.

John laughs and pulls Sherlock's hands away. "Calm down, Sherlock."

Sherlock's hands drop to John's shoulders again. John works on the buttons of Sherlock's shirt instead.

When each button is undone and Sherlock's skin is finally visible, John pushes the sides apart and places his hands on Sherlock's smooth chest. He rubs down Sherlock's skin to his belly button.

"I've dreamt about this," John whispers, letting one hand stroke down the trail of hair that disappears beneath the waist of Sherlock's jeans and his other hand roam around to Sherlock's back.

Sherlock stutters a breath when John tugs lightly at Sherlock's belt. "About…my belly button?"

John laughs again. For a second he thinks about how much laughing is going on, and how he's never laughed during sex with anyone. It makes his heart pound in his chest. It makes him want to do backflips with joy. Instead, he takes a deep breath and says, "No. About undressing you. Finally having you…naked against me."

"Well then…" Sherlock says, pressing his chest against John.

John hugs him tight. "I love you."

Sherlock pulls back and lightly kisses John once, then he pushes John down onto his back. He lies himself over John, spreading his thighs more when John runs his hands up to cup Sherlock's bum.

Sherlock scoots back to lick down John's chest. He tastes dirt, and sweat, and all glorious John. He delicately licks one of John's nipples and John's hips undulate beneath him.

"Oh god…" John sighs with a chuckle. "You sure you're a virgin?"

Sherlock smirks. "Hangin' around in New York City taught me a few things."

John tugs on his hair until Sherlock lies over him again. "Let me teach you a few things."

Sherlock grins.

* * *

John practically rips Sherlock's clothes off. After getting his shirt on the floor, John turns Sherlock onto his back and reaches for his jeans. He accidentally brushes the bulge in Sherlock's pants when he's unzipping, causing Sherlock to thrust his hips at John's hand.

"Oh…" Sherlock gasps in shock of how _good _it felt. "Sorry."

"Sorry?" John questions. "No…" he places his hand flat against Sherlock's underwear, over his erection. "Do it again."

Sherlock thrusts against John's hand.

John moans.

John's suddenly aware that he's never touched another man's erection. Sure, there was that boy the summer before he met Sherlock, but he didn't touch the boy like the boy touched him. He's glad the first is Sherlock, and he's more glad that he's Sherlock's first.

John dips his fingers into Sherlock's underpants and swipes a finger over the head of Sherlock's cock. Sherlock cries out in shock, the sensation ripping through him like fire. He needs more.

John licks at the fluid that gathered on his finger. He knows he needs more, too.

He gets Sherlock's underpants off all the way, then without warning he bends and swallows Sherlock's cock.

Sherlock grips John's hair as he pushes his hips at John's face. He loudly cries out, but John's moan drowns out his.

The feel of Sherlock's thick cock in his mouth, the smell of Sherlock's arousal steaming out of his pores, the pure _taste _of the pre-come already oozing out of Sherlock drives John wild. He regrets never tasting Sherlock before. He automatically longs to go down on Sherlock every single day as long as Sherlock will let him.

"Oh god…John…" Sherlock sighs, running his fingers through John's hair.

John pulls off with a pop and licks his lips. "Good?" John asks. "Because it's rather fantastic on my end."

"Brilliant…" Sherlock replies. "You like this?"

"I love this," he sighs, bending and sucking one of Sherlock's balls into his mouth.

Sherlock moans loudly. "John..." he chants, "Oh, _John_..."

John drops Sherlock out of his mouth again and smiles. "What do you want me to do?" he asks, sitting back on his heels.

"To…do?"

"Do you want me to finish you that way or…" John reaches down and wraps a hand around Sherlock's cock.

Sherlock stutters a breath and watches John stroke him. "Oh, I…" He flicks his eyes at the very obvious bulge in John's jeans. "Take your pants off."

John's never done as he's told so fast. He gets off the bed and bends to get his jeans off from around his ankles, then he stands up straight and blushes under Sherlock's insistent gaze.

Sherlock's not a naïve young kid anymore. He's heard of how boys have sex with boys with more than just hands and mouths. He bites his lip as he stares at John's erection.

John clears his throat to get Sherlock's attention.

Sherlock looks up at his face again.

"So?" John asks.

"I want you in me," Sherlock answers.

John mentally does a happy dance. His dreams are coming true.

"I'll be right back," he says, remembering that they need Vaseline. He runs to the bathroom and returns to see Sherlock leaning back on one elbow and fiddling with his balls with the other hand.

John's knees want to go out. "Oh god…" he sighs.

Sherlock looks at him. "Alright?"

John rushes to the bed. "Perfect," he says, leaning down and kissing Sherlock's thigh. "You're perfect." He kisses Sherlock's hip. "Absolutely perfect." He kisses Sherlock's stomach. "Too perfect for me..." He slowly, almost fearfully, kisses Sherlock's chest.

"John…" Sherlock starts to argue.

"No," John says, kissing Sherlock's throat. "You're the most perfect person I've ever met, Sherlock." He lays over Sherlock again. "I don't deserve you. You're too good for me."

Sherlock wraps his arms around John's neck. "I am not, John. You do deserve me. You always have."

"I don't, Sherlock. I hurt you, I don't deserve—"

"Sshh," Sherlock stops him. "I love you. Do you love me?"

"More than anything."

Sherlock smiles in his face. "Well, get a move on then."

John laughs. "Alright," he says, then kisses Sherlock once more and sits back on his heels again.

* * *

John slathers his fingers with Vaseline, then pushes Sherlock's thighs further apart.

"Okay?" John asks.

Sherlock nods.

"I need you to say it, Sherlock."

"Yes, I'm okay."

"Good," John says.

He rubs a wet finger against Sherlock's closed hole. Sherlock gasps.

"Alright?" John asks.

"Odd feeling."

"I'll stop when you tell me to."

Sherlock nods. "Keep going."

John does. He slowly presses a finger into Sherlock and pauses to let Sherlock adjust.

"How's it feel?" John asks.

"Strange," Sherlock sighs out.

"Hurt?"

"Not as bad as I thought it would. Just…slow, okay?"

"Of course."

John rotates his finger around while slowly pushing further in. Soon, his finger is deep inside Sherlock and swirling around to stretch him more. Sherlock moans loudly, every few seconds chanting John's name.

"I'm gonna add another," John warns, then presses a second finger next to the first.

Sherlock cries out.

Fear rushes through John. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he says, pausing his fingers until he can safely pull them out of Sherlock.

"No…" Sherlock says, reaching for John's chest. "Good…it's good."

John sighs relief. "Okay. I'm sorry."

Sherlock shakes his head. "John?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Kiss me."

John rotates around his body to be able to reach his face while his own fingers are still deep inside Sherlock. He doesn't stop with the stretching while he leans down and kisses Sherlock roughly. He soothingly strokes his free hand through Sherlock's hair.

Soon, John adds a third finger.

"Alright," John says, "I'm going to try something, okay?"

"What?"

"I'm going to touch the cluster of nerves inside you."

"Is it gonna hurt?"

"No baby," John says. "It'll feel amazing."

Sherlock nods. "Go ahead."

John finds it quickly, and the second he rubs his fingers over it, Sherlock arches hard off the bed and groans loudly in pleasure. John bites his tongue trying not to cry out himself. He kisses Sherlock's cheek and licks at his neck over and over while touching it once more.

Sherlock groans. "Get in me," he begs. "Before you make me come."

John's never been this eager for sex, not even the first time he did it with a girl. This is _Sherlock. _Sherlock, the love of his life, the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with and has since he was in high school.

He climbs back between Sherlock's thighs and spreads Vaseline over his cock.

"Okay," he looks at Sherlock's face. "Ready?"

Sherlock vigorously nods.

"You have to tell me if it hurts."

"I will."

John takes hold of himself, then lines up against Sherlock's hole and slowly pushes in.

It's better than he expected. As soon as the head of his cock is through the muscle, John has to pause and bite his lip to dull the glorious sensation down below. It's hot and tight and wet, and Sherlock's practically sobbing beneath him.

He looks down at Sherlock. His brows are knitted tightly together and John can't tell by his face if he is in pain or pleasure.

"Baby?" John asks, kissing every inch of Sherlock's skin that his mouth can reach: forehead, nose, cheek, lips, jaw. "Talk to me."

"Keep going," Sherlock begs.

"Slow," John argues against Sherlock's neck. "We have to go slow, I don't want to hurt you-"

Sherlock presses his thighs tight against John's hips and presses his heels into John's bum. He pulls John forward with his feet and John slips in inch by inch.

"Sherlock!" John cries, digging his fingers into Sherlock's hair and pulling. "God, Sherlock!"

Sherlock twists the sheets in his hands.

Once John's completely surrounded by Sherlock's body, he shifts to wrap one arm around Sherlock's waist. He holds him comfortingly and whispers to Sherlock to breath, to relax, that it's alright. Sherlock wraps one arm around John's neck and reaches for John's free hand with the other.

John grabs his hand and pulls it above their heads. He squeezes Sherlock's hand tight while kissing Sherlock over and over. A minute later, he begins to thrust.

Sherlock arches under John and pulls away from the kiss to moan in John's ear instead. John chances a harder thrust, causing Sherlock to moan again.

Right at that moment, John vows to make Sherlock make that noise every single day for the rest of their lives. And considering how good everything is for him, he knows it won't be a difficult task.

John presses his forehead against Sherlock's and looks into Sherlock's eyes as he sets an even rhythm. Sherlock writhes beneath him, meeting John's hips with every downward grind of his hips. John opens his mouth and lets out groan after groan against Sherlock's lips, and Sherlock bites John's bottom lip into his mouth.

Sherlock lets John's hand go so he can get both hands on John's back to scratch down. John arches against Sherlock and thrusts his hips harder, so Sherlock scratches again to get the same reaction from John.

"You want it hard?" John asks.

Sherlock nods. "Yes, John, harder, _harder_!"

John sits up on his knees and thrusts as hard as he thinks safe, at the same time gripping Sherlock's cock in a tight fist and stroking in time with his hips. Sherlock throws his arms over his head and arches beautifully, coming all over his belly a second later.

John shoves into Sherlock one last, hard time and comes deep inside him. He blacks out in pleasure. Orgasms inside dream-Sherlock were never even this good. All John can hear is Sherlock yelling under him. All he can feel is Sherlock pulsing around his dick. All he can taste is Sherlock's cock on his tongue.

And he knows that's as it should be.

* * *

John doesn't get off of Sherlock right away. He just collapses forward and wraps his arms around Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock rubs his hands up and down John's sweaty back.

"I'll move eventually," John says.

Sherlock giggles. "Don't. I want to feel you on top of me."

John grins. "I thought you just did."

"No!" Sherlock cries. "I meant...just your weight on mine. This, the feeling of someone next to me or on me...it's what I wanted for months."

John props himself on his elbows above Sherlock. "Why?"

"I don't know. I felt like I wasn't here. I wanted to feel like I was still on earth."

"Well, you are here. With me."

Sherlock smiles. "With you."

"How do you feel about that?"

"Ecstatic."

"Me too."

Sherlock shifts under John to relieve a cramp forming in his back. "How sore am I going to be later?"

John rolls off of him with a deep, satisfied sigh. "I don't know, I've never done it that way."

"Huh," is all Sherlock replies.

John looks over at him. "How was it?"

"Mmm…" Sherlock contently sighs. "I think you have room for improvement."

John lifts an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sherlock looks at him. "Good thing we have lots of time to get it just right."

John laughs. He leans over and kisses Sherlock's swollen lips lightly.

"Alright," John agrees, "But next time you're doin' the fucking."

Sherlock laughs. "Deal."


	18. Stay

They enjoy the rest of the day laying in bed talking about nothing. John repeats over and over how much he missed Sherlock, and Sherlock agrees every time.

* * *

The top of the hill is John's favorite place. With Sherlock, sweet delicate Sherlock, cradled against his chest, it's exponentially better. Not only is this John's favorite place, favorite moment, favorite feeling, but the world itself feels right again.

The stars have aligned, these two men have been brought together again. And John knows he'll do anything not to lose Sherlock again. Once when he dumped Sherlock in high school was enough, again when Sherlock was sent away was too many times. He can't lose Sherlock again.

"Stay with me," John says as they sit at the top of the hill watching the sun set over the ocean.

Sherlock snuggles deeper into John's chest. "Tonight?"

John brushes hair off the back of Sherlock's neck and kisses the exposed skin. "Forever."

Sherlock turns to look at John as much as he can. "You come with me."

"I can't leave my mama."

"Take her. She can live with my dad. Sell the vineyard. Go to Harvard with me."

"Why'd you gotta go back to Harvard?"

Sherlock shrugs. "Because I want to. I'm finally ready to and…I want you to be there with me."

John kisses his neck again.

"You can try to play football."

John laughs. "I haven't played football since last year."

"So? That talent doesn't just disappear."

John carts his fingers of both hands through Sherlock's hair, giving Sherlock a simple scalp massage.

"Think I could?"

"I think you could do anything."

"What if I don't wanna play football?"

"What do you want to do?"

John rubs his nose against Sherlock's neck. "Nah, forget it."

"No, what?"

"Nothin'. It's stupid."

Sherlock turns around in John's arms. He sits cross-legged between John's thighs.

"You look good in my t-shirt," John says.

"Don't change the subject."

John laughs.

"What is it? What do you want to do?"

John licks his lips and sighs. "I, uh…I wanna be a doctor."

"A doctor?" Sherlock asks, surprised.

John looks down at the dirt. "I told you it was stupid."

Sherlock places a hand on his jaw. "It's not stupid."

John looks at him. "It's not?"

"Of course not! You could do it!"

"I am so bad at school, Sherlock."

"Is this something you want?" Sherlock asks.

John nods. "It is."

"Did you want to go to USC to play football?"

John shakes his head. "No."

"There's the difference."

"You think so?"

Sherlock adjusts to sit on John's thighs. He wraps his arms around John's neck. "You can do anything," Sherlock whispers against John's lips.

"Then…I'm ready to let go of the vineyard. You think it'll sell?"

"You've maintained it quite beautifully on your own," Sherlock says. "I'll stay here with you until it sells."

"When does school start?"

"September."

John smiles. "We have two months, then."

"What do you think we can get up to in two months?" Sherlock asks.

"Lots."

"More importantly," Sherlock says, "How many times do you think we can have sex in the next two months?"

John laughs. "We do have a lot of time to make up for."

Sherlock nods, then kisses John lightly and pushes him down against the dirt.


	19. Two Years Later

**_A/N: Final chapter! I like this chapter a lot, it was my favorite. I hope you guys like it and liked the whole story. I plan to write more AU's like this because, I don't know, I just like it. Anyway, thanks for reading!_**

* * *

**February 1932**

* * *

Sherlock's sitting on his little bed in his third story apartment at Harvard. He's got textbooks sprawled around him and worksheets thrown everywhere. It's a mess.

The bed's next to the window because it's the only spot where it fits, so it's unfortunate when the broken window latch unhooks and makes the window swing open with any gust of wing. Sherlock shivers and pushes the window back into place, latching it tightly and hoping it stays.

The front door swings open next. Not from the wind.

"Take your boots off!" Sherlock calls through the small apartment.

He hears laughter. "Yes, sir!"

Sherlock chuckles to himself.

Next, he hears a small clash.

Sherlock sighs. "Please tell me you didn't just break the jar of dirt on the table!"

"Uh...no...not that jar!"

"Alright!" Sherlock calls. "The others are okay, I'll clean it up later! Don't touch it!"

He hears footsteps creak on the hardwood, quickly approaching their bedroom.

He doesn't make any effort to move any books off the bed, so when John runs through the room and tackles him down, rough edges dig into his back. He arches off a book stabbing him in the spine.

"Off!" Sherlock demands.

John wraps his arms tight around Sherlock as Sherlock still pushes on his arms. "No!" John cries. "I missed you!"

Sherlock chuckles when John kisses his neck.

"I have three exams over the next week. I need to study!"

"You can read while we fuck, I don't mind."

"It's a bit distracting!"

"I know," John replies, kissing the other side of his neck. "Reading does get in the way of fucking."

Sherlock laughs. "Let up, John, off. I need to study."

John sighs disappointedly and sits up. "What am I to do while you study…" John lifts a thick book. "…French?"

Sherlock laughs and yanks his book away from John. "It's chemistry!"

John shrugs. "It's a different language to me."

Sherlock gapes at him. "How are you going to be a doctor?"

John shrugs again. "My charm."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Sure, charm."

John lays back on the bed, resting his head on his arms.

"Shouldn't you be studying, too?"

John shakes his head. "No, I don't need to. I'm acin' all my classes."

Sherlock looks back at him. "How?!"

John shrugs. "Some say it's my genius."

"You're not a genius."

"And you are, study bug?"

Sherlock glares. "Yes."

John shoves the heel of his foot into Sherlock's back.

Sherlock arches away. "Your feet are ice cold!"

John wiggles his toes under Sherlock's thigh. "Then warm me up, baby."

Sherlock shakes his head. "Two more hours of studying."

"Two hours?!"

Sherlock turns around to face John fully. "Seriously, John, _how _do you not have any studying to do?"

John shrugs. "I don't know. School's surprisingly easy. This is my third semester and I've hardly opened my books at all."

"You've been smart all along, haven't you? You didn't need a tutor all those years ago."

"You're right. I had ulterior motives for my dad to hire you."

"Which were?"

John shrugs. "I was hopin' for a hot babe with big—"

"Breasts."

John's jaw drops and he sits up. "I was gonna say _brains_!"

Sherlock laughs. "Right!"

John smiles.

The window swings open again. Sherlock growls at it and shoves it shut.

"How about you busy yourself by fixin' my window?"

"Your dad said he'd send someone over to do it."

"It's been broken since we moved in almost a year and a half ago!"

"Neither of us have died of hypothermia yet, we're fine. Besides, I'm a doctor."

"I would not trust you with gettin' a hair outta my eye."

John pretends to look hurt.

Sherlock grins.

"You're lucky I love you, else I'd be hurt by that."

"I am lucky you love me," Sherlock says, leaning forward to kiss John once.

John cups his jaw and attempts to pull Sherlock further, but Sherlock resists.

"Two hours," he whispers against John's lips.

John lets out a groan. "I may die if I don't get my hands on you before then."

"Good," Sherlock mutters, "Maybe I could get a little more studying done without you bugging me."

John gasps, offended.

Sherlock smiles and goes back to reading.

John watches him for a minute, noting the way Sherlock's squinting at the little words in the books.

"I think you need glasses," John tells him.

"Nonsense," Sherlock disagrees. "My eyes are perfect."

John sits up and settles behind Sherlock, resting his chin on Sherlock's shoulder. "What does..." John points to a random word. "That say?"

Sherlock holds the book up only a few inches from his face and easily reads, "Hydrogen."

"Uh huh," John replies. "How about that one?" he asks, pointing a new word and pushing the book much further away.

Sherlock squints again, then takes a few long seconds to try to read it. Finally, he sets the book down on the bed. "This is nonsense, I don't have time for games."

"Alright," John concedes. "It's your eyesight." He presses a kiss to Sherlock's cheek and sits back against the pillows again. "You would look sexy with a pair of peepers, though."

"You think I look sexy no matter what's on my body."

"I think you look sexy no matter what's _not_ on your body, too."

"John, for the last time! I'm not studying naked! Not after what happened last time!"

John laughs. "Oh come on. It was fun!"

"How was that fun? You had an alarming amount of erections and I got only a 'B' on the test two days later."

"How was that not fun?"

Sherlock glares at him.

John laughs louder. "Okay, fine. You study. I'll...do something."

"Thank you," Sherlock sighs, directing his attention at his books again. "By the way, there's a letter for your mother in the pile of mail on the table."

"Oh!" John cheerily says, jumping from the bed. "You could've led with that!" he calls from the hall towards the kitchen.

He returns a minute later, this time reading a letter.

"What did she say?" Sherlock asks.

John flops down on the bed again. "My sister called. She met a girl, they want to get married but she's not sure they can."

"Good for her. Right?"

"Yeah, I think so. 'Bout time my sister settles down."

"Mmm."

"My mother wants to visit. Or she wants me to visit."

"You haven't seen her in a while."

"I know, I just can't get time off right now."

"I know, John. Your mother understands."

"Yeah," John sighs. "I hope she does."

Sherlock looks at him. John looks sad. Sherlock knows how hard it is to need a parent when the other isn't around anymore, so he always feel bad when John misses his mother. He leans over and kisses John's cheek.

John smiles weakly at him.

"You'll find time," Sherlock says.

John nods. He kisses Sherlock one more time, then tells Sherlock to study.

John lets Sherlock study in silence, intending to leave him there all night, but he lasts about five minutes before he himself grows restless. Then he remembers running into Mycroft earlier that morning.

"Hey, I saw your brother this morning," John says, getting off the bed and leaving the room.

Sherlock watches him go. "And…"

John returns a minute later with a file in his hands. "Sent this over. Looks like a new case."

Sherlock feels torn. He knows he has a ton of studying to do, but really school's not that hard for him either and he already knows all of this stuff. And the file is thick, which ensures a really good crime.

"You know you want it…" John teases.

Sherlock throws his book down and reaches for the file in John's hand.

John laughs and gives it over.

* * *

For the rest of the night, Sherlock looks over the case file instead of his homework and textbooks. It's the very interesting murder of a twenty-five year old student. Sherlock spreads out all of the evidence, the statements, and the photos that were sent over.

John watches while he eats dinner alone and does a bit of studying himself. He doesn't bother Sherlock, because he knows the case is so much more important than Sherlock's studying earlier.

John goes to bed around midnight because he has to get up for work at five. He silently strips off his shirt and jeans, then gets under the covers in only his underpants.

* * *

Sherlock solves the case around two. Thinking it over, Sherlock realizes that it really was very simple. The boy was poisoned by his brother, the son he says their father "loved more", for the win of the family fortune. Almost a Cane and Abel story, Sherlock could consider it.

Sherlock finally takes his sore eyes off the case notes and notices John's asleep. He's bundled in their soft duvet on their tiny bed with Sherlock's books still spread around him.

Looking at John, Sherlock's heart just about bursts. Still, after all this time, he's surprised when he sees this man in his bed. He's surprised when John puts on his Harvard sweater for classes. He's surprised when John is there, day in and day out, helping him paying bills and taking so much time in the bath that Sherlock has no choice but to climb in with him and taking his wet boots off when he enters their apartment and kissing him and still, after all this time, trying to get into his pants every hour on the hour.

Most importantly, Sherlock is surprised each and every time John says the words "I love you," and it's often; loudly, softly, sighed between kisses or yelled between thrusts, said simply while brushing their teeth, or accompanied by a quick kiss and a "see you after work, baby."

Sherlock takes off his clothes, then climbs into bed with John.

He kisses John's neck once and simply lies over his sleeping body.

John stirs awake and wraps his arms around Sherlock. "Solve it?"

"Of course," Sherlock says.

"Of course," John repeats.

Sherlock smiles.

John rubs his hands up and down Sherlock's back.

"I missed you all day."

"I missed you too," John says. "What'd'ya say I take Saturday off work and we do something?"

"Do something?"

"Something together."

Sherlock grins and leans down to kiss John's neck. "We're doing something together right now."

John laughs. "I mean we can go to the movies, take a drive, go to a fancy meal."

"We can't afford a fancy meal."

"I'll make you one."

"Okay," Sherlock agrees.

John strokes his hands deeper down Sherlock's back.

"Between now and when we wake up in the morning is the only time I won't be busy with studying," Sherlock says, kissing John.

"Mmm," John sighs. "You know what?" He turns Sherlock over and lays him gently on the bed. "I just wanna hold you."

"Okay," Sherlock whispers, hugging John tight and closing his eyes. "I love you, John."

"I love you, Sherlock."


End file.
